


Darkest Hour Before Dawn

by onequartercanadian



Series: Finding Freedom [5]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Abuse, Action, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kidnapping, Mind Games, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Pain, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Thriller, Psychological Trauma, SO MUCH MANIPULATION, Sad, Suspense, Thriller, Tragedy, Trauma, Whump, although knowledge of the series isn't needed, another spinoff of a fic of mine, but you can certainly read where this idea came from, hurt aftermath, i found a new way for my oc antag to be an evil asshole, original character finds a new way to be an asshole, post-au revior, so much pain, trauma aftermath
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 20:45:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 28,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13085034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onequartercanadian/pseuds/onequartercanadian
Summary: 'Neal Caffrey' had to die in order to get the Panthers off his back and away from the people he cares about. He makes his way to Paris to make a new life for himself.Although it's over before it even starts. A woman long forgotten from his past kidnaps him in Paris. Neal is desperately in need of help because he can't get out of this situation himself.When Peter and Mozzie eventually find out that Neal's alive and that something happened to him. They start looking and  eventually try to outsmart a manipulative psychopath in order to find out what happened to Neal.Later Neal has to find a way to rebuild the life he left behind.Finding Freedom Series Standalone.





	1. Backfired

**Author's Note:**

  * For [0lily0](https://archiveofourown.org/users/0lily0/gifts).



> So 0lily0 commented on another fic in the series, Out of the Darkness, suggesting that I mix this series with the finale and gave a few ideas. Soon the ideas started flowing and I couldn't get it out of my head. So yeah, this is my Post Au Revoir fic. 
> 
> For this fic the only thing that changes for this fic is that Peter still thinks Neal's dead.
> 
> Thanks for the idea, 0lily0!!

Neal landed at Charles De Gaulle Airport in Paris that night to start his new life. After easily passing through customs with the new passport he made earlier, he made his way towards the exit to grab a cab into the city.  When all of a sudden, a woman bumped into him at the arrivals hall.

“Oh I’m sorry.” She apologized. Neal looked at noticed she was around his age, tall, tan skin, and had a thin yet muscular stature. She beautiful long dark brown, almost black, straight hair. He also noticed that she spoke English with an American accent. She had a compelling and innocent allure to her. He didn’t see the darkness hiding within her.

“It’s okay.” He smiled. She smiled back.

“I’m Emily.” She was lying, but he didn’t notice.

Neal took his new alias for a spin, “Christopher.”

After a moment ‘Emily’ asked him, “So, you heading into the city?”

“Yeah, the 10th Arrondissement. You?”

“Wow, what a coincidence. So am I.” She smiled and feigned surprise. She knew exactly where he was going.

He gestured towards the sliding glass door, “You want to split a cab?”

“I actually have a car. If you want a ride into the city.” She offered and flashed another seemingly innocent alluring smile.

“Sure.”

She knew he’d take the bait.

* * *

They walked out to the parking lot together, “So, Christopher, you here for business or pleasure?”

He took a second, “A new start.”

He wasn’t exactly lying. New York had to become nothing more than a memory for him. He needed to ensure that the Panthers thought he was dead and that everyone he cared about were safe.

He asked, “What about you?”

“Moved here a few years ago. I was in New York visiting some old friends.” That was a complete lie. She hadn’t even been on a plane recently. She’d been in Paris for a while, getting ready to execute her plan.

 

After finding her small black sudan they both got in. He gave her his address and she nodded, claiming she knew exactly where it was.

Neal didn’t know it yet, but they weren’t going there.

They got out of the airport parking lot and started heading off. While she drove they continued to chat. Neal didn’t know she was lying to him, but she knew he was lying to her. She knew _exactly_ who Neal was and why he was in Paris.

She had been keeping track of him for years now.

Although anyone else would call it stalking.

About a half hour or so after they set off Neal started to wonder why they weren’t near the city yet. The airport was only about a half hour or so from the city and they hadn’t hit any traffic. He was starting to get suspicious. He had this terrifying gut feeling that something was really wrong.

“So, how much longer do you think?”

‘Emily’ thought for a moment, “Little while.”

“Because we’ve been on the road for a while now.”

“We’ll get there.” She said cryptically.

Neal couldn’t resist the feeling that there was something seriously wrong. He got out his burner phone, it didn’t have a map app, but it did have a compass app.

Paris was southwest of the airport...they were going northeast.

She glanced over at the light shining from the phone in the dark car. A slow sinister smile crept across her face, “You’re catching on.”

He looked at her, his concerns growing. “Where are we going?” He demanded.

“Not to the city, that’s for damn sure.”

“Did they send you?” He was referring to the Panthers. He wondered if they knew he faked his death and were after him for taking them down.

She scoffed, knowing who he was referring to, “No, I don’t work for _anybody_.”

Neal subtly looked at the speedometer and saw they were going around 110 kpm, which was about 70 mph. He couldn’t exactly unlock the car and jump out at that speed. He would most likely break something and be unable to run.

“What do you want?” He angrily asked, “Anything I don’t have I can get for you or help you with.”

She continued to look at the dark road. They were the only ones on it and there weren’t any street lamps, just the car’s headlights. “It’s not what you can get me or help me with.” Neal was confused, “I want _**you**. _ ”

That scared Neal much more than he let on.

“Who are you?” As soon as it came out Neal realized it was a stupid question, like she wasn’t going tell that easily.

She simply responded, “I’m going to be the only person in the world who knows where you are.” Without taking her eyes off the road she opened the middle console with one hand and pulled out a full syringe before closing it again.  

Neal moved as much as he could in the seat, which wasn’t much. “Okay, okay, let’s just talk about this.”

“No.” She said simply. She took the cap off the needle with one hand. Neal tried to get the needle from her but she managed to stab him in the thigh and pushed the plunger all the way down, releasing all the contents of the syringe. Then she threw it in the backseat.

He instinctively felt around the place she dosed him. It started to itch and tingle, “What the fuck?!” She smiled ominously as she drove. “You bitch!” As terrified as he was he felt his heart rate start to slow, he started to feel lightheaded and tired.

It didn’t take too long for him to fall unconscious.

* * *

When he woke he quickly realized he was tied to a bed. His hands were each tied at either side of the bed with his feet the same way, except he saw a chain also wrapped around his right ankle. The ropes seemed thick and tight. The knots were right behind his palms and at his ankles. He couldn’t reach them. He tried to get his breathing under control. His jacket was gone, he was just in his dress shirt and pants. He looked around and saw he was a in a dimly lit cabin about a few hundred square feet. There weren’t any windows but he noticed a small bathroom on the other side to his right, a ‘living’ area near the wall opposite the bed, and a tiny kitchen to his left. The thing the mostly grabbed his attention was the door opposite the bed. He thought it was titanium. He grew even more worried when he saw a keypad next to it.

“Hey, Neal. Glad you’re up.”

He looked to his left and saw her standing there.

“Where the hell am I?”

The innocent compelling vibe to her was completely gone. Replaced with something sinister, violent, crazy.

“You’re in a place I built from the ground up. A place for us to live. A place you can’t escape from. It's so off the grid no one will ever find us.”

‘ _Us?’_ Neal thought, he was confused.

“It will be a great place for us to live and have a family. I’ve wanted you for _so_ long. Now I finally have you. I can have everything I’ve ever dreamed of.”

Neal couldn’t hide his confused and shocked response to that, “Excuse me?”  
Because that sounded batshit crazy.

….Because _she_ _was_ batshit crazy.

She was a delusional violent psychopath who took advantage of Neal’s “death”.

She walked over to the foot of the bed, Neal’s eyes followed her. “I’ve been following you for a long time now. I’m so happy I could finally make my move.”

“Who the hell are you?!”

She put her hands on her hips and sighed, “I knew you wouldn’t remember me. But I remember you. I’m Christina Mendoza. I worked for Vincent Adler.” Worked was overstating it some. She was an intern when Neal was running his con with Mozzie.

He didn’t really remember her and wondered how she knew he was still alive.

Luckily she answered that question, “You’re probably wondering how I even managed to find you and how I knew you were still even alive.” Neal stayed silent, “Like I said, I’ve following you _very_ closely for a _very_ long time, Neal.”

“You’ve been stalking me.”

She brushed it off, “Oh don’t get caught up on semantics.” He called it like it was...stalking.

“You’ve managed to double cross everyone in your life. You’ve double crossed the Panthers…” She counted on her fingers for a moment, “Like four times. You’ve double crossed Peter, the FBI, Mozzie, Keller. It’s almost impressive.” She looked him dead in the eyes, “You _won’t_ be able to do that shit with me.”

Neal had to ask, “Why is that?”

“Because if you don’t do everything I say or try to escape...I’ll tip off the Panthers that you’re still alive and sold them out. When they can’t find you, you know what they’ll do.” Fear set deeply into Neal, “They’ll kill everyone that you ever cared about. Mozzie, Peter, Elizabeth, or that little boy she’s carrying. You know that the Panthers still have a mighty reach from prison. That's why you faked your death. You wanted to ensure they couldn't hurt them.” She gave an evil smile with an devilish look in her eyes, “You don’t want to be responsible for the murders of Peter’s wife and son, do you?”

Neal was in a silent shock.

“That’s what I thought.”

Neal didn’t know what to think, what to say. Christina noticed. “So you do as I say, and the people you were trying to protect by ‘dying’ will be just fine. If you don’t, then…they’re dead.” The following silence hung heavy in the air. Neal sincerely didn’t know if he was more terrified or pissed off. For the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to say or how to play this to his advantage.

Because she had all the power and the leverage...and he had none.

“I’m glad I don’t have to worry about Burke though. Because you took care of that for me. Everyone thinks you’re dead. Because you did a _damn_ good job making them believe it. He’s _not_ going to come looking for you.

Because no one searches for a dead man.”

That sent a chill down Neal’s spine. When he was planning his ‘death’ he never thought it could backfire like this. He never thought that the Panthers, or anyone else for that matter, would figure it out.

She changed the topic, “I’m just glad that you’re finally **_mine_ **. There’s no escaping me.”

All this was terrifying Neal more than anything else had. He was trying not to panic.

 

Neal’s eyes widened with pure fear when Christina started to take off her t-shirt and pants, revealing a lacy bra and underwear set. She walked over to the right side of the bed and gave another devious smile, “I’ve been waiting _so long_ so this. Years, I’ve been waiting.” She straddled his waist and started to undo his belt and pants.

Neal tried to move, but he couldn’t. “Woah! What the fuck! No! Stop!”

She curled up his belt in her hands with an evil idea. She set it aside for the moment and pulled down his pants and underwear in one fluid motion.

“What the fuck! Stop!” Neal yelled as he struggled against the ropes.

She smiled and enjoyed how much he was struggling. She took a second to take it in before ripping open his dress shirt and running her hands up and down his chest.

“You’re so cute when you’re scared.”

She continued to run her hands up and down his chest, “You have such an amazing body.”

“You’re psychotic!” He thoughtlessly spat

She looked him in the eyes with a small nod and smile, “Yeah...I am. You should do what I say so you or others don’t get hurt.” She continued with what she wanted to do and went below his waist. He tried to stop her but he couldn’t.

He would learn quickly that there was no stopping her.

* * *

About a week after Neal “died”

Mozzie walked out of a bar one evening when a man appeared almost out of nowhere and asked, “Are you Mozzie?”

Mozzie was concerned, “Who’s asking?”

“Here.” The man gave him an envelope and vanished into the crowd of people around them. Mozzie was curious. He moved to the side of the sidewalk and cautiously opened the letter.

 

_Mozzie,_

_This letter is to tell you that it was all just a con on the Panthers. I know, I’m sorry, but I got in too deep with the wrong people. I knew that they weren’t going to let me get away with screwing them over like I did. If I just ran then they would hurt the people I care about. I had to “die” in order to not only to keep myself safe but you and Peter as well. Just know that I am alive and okay. You can come find me when they’ve all been convicted and all this has blown over. It's too risky to come now. It'll probably calm down in a year or so. Also, this probably goes without saying, but don’t say anything to Peter. The less he knows the better. Keep watch over him, over everyone. Thank you for everything. I’ll be waiting._

_33 Rue de Récollets_

 

Neal had written the note and given it to the guy about a week before the con on the Panthers went down.

He muttered with a small smile, “You little shit. Neal Caffrey’s greatest con.”

Mozzie had no real reason to question the note. It seemed legit to him and it was the sign he had been wishing for. That his best friend wasn’t dead. He had no idea how badly Neal needed help. How badly his plan had backfired. Mozzie would listen to the note and wouldn’t figure out that his friend needed help for a long time.


	2. Not Many Options

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neal thinks about his options.  
> Later, Mozzie realizes that something is wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have a better idea of where this fic is going. I'm going more towards psychological thriller/angst/mind games than emotional hurt/comfort. There will be emotional h/c but more towards the end and probably sprinkled throughout.

Neal woke up in a haze. He felt dizzy and lightheaded. Like he was dosed with something again. He remembered what happened and whipped up. The first thing he noticed was that Christina was nowhere in the cabin. He immediately got up from the bed and remembered the chain around his ankle. He lifted his pant to inspect it. It was a simple padlock. If he could find something to pick it that would be encouraging. He immediately tried to get something from the walls or floor to use as a lockpick. He felt the logs along the wall of the bed and noticed they were actually a thick plastic, so was the floor. There was also heavy insulation all around making the place soundproof.

That worried Neal.

He tried not to think about it and inspect what he couldn’t reach. He couldn’t reach the kitchen or the door. He thought the kitchen was a little odd since it looked like everything was locked away. He tried to think of reasons she’d make sure he couldn’t reach it.

‘ _Kitchen. Already has the knives locked away. Food. Control the food?’_ From how she talked last night, she was intent on keeping him alive. Controlling him. ‘ _But why that? She already has the ammunition she needs.’_

He then realized, ‘ _She admitted she was a psychopath...does she even need a reason to do anything?’_

He got as close to the door as he could, he was a few feet away. He looked at the keypad at the door, it looked like a really good one. He muttered, “Fuck.” He knew he couldn’t break into it without any sort of tools. Especially since he didn’t even know how long the combination was.

He inspected what he could reach. Some feet from the door there was a locked up armoire and bookshelf, along with two small chairs. They had an ugly red plaid fabric on the cushions and hard wooden backs. He walked into the bathroom. There was a tub with shower built into the wall. He thought he could use the toilet lid. He tried to pick it up but quickly found it was cemented down. He tried to open the cabinet below the sink but that was locked as well. He noticed all the future was locked or bolted down. He was also quick to notice that the place was only dimly lit by a few ceiling lights and the fireplace in the kitchen. It was cold, dank, and the air was already starting to feel stale.

Upon casing the place again it didn’t seem like there was any way he could get out and nothing he could use.

He sat on the bed and sighed. He knew this wasn’t looking good for him. He needed to think. ‘ _Okay. So you’re locked in alone with a psychopath who wants to keep you as her own. Everyone thinks you’re dead...This is not good. How are you going to get out of this? It doesn’t help that she’s threatening everyone that you care about?’_ Since she knew about the Panthers and his death plan he didn’t doubt that she could get ahold of them and tip them off. He didn’t want to underestimate her. She also knew the gender of the Burke’s baby, that wasn’t common knowledge. It would also take a lot of time, thought, and effort to create this place. It seemed like she thought of everything.

This all scared him more than he let on.

‘ _I can’t risk her calling the Panthers. Their safety was the exact reason I had to ‘die’. Damn...will listening to her  be the only thing that keeps the Burkes and Mozzie alive until I can think of another plan?’_ He remembered the note he wrote to Mozzie. He wouldn’t be surprised if she intercepted it and Mozzie never got it. Even if Mozzie did get it, Neal told him not to coming looking and that he was okay. Which he expected Mozzie would listen to.

‘ _There_ **_has_ ** _to be another way. There always is.’_ He remembered a conversation he had with Mozzie when the whole thing with the Panthers started. About how there was always another way out. How Mozzie was skeptical about it. How they were on borrowed time and their sins catch up to them eventually.

He would start to wonder if he flew too close to the sun and got burnt. If his sins had caught up to him. That this was just karma.

He didn’t have anyone there to disprove this.

He tried to think of his options. Which weren’t many. It seemed like his only option was to play boy scout until he thought of something else. If he could think of something else. He would keep telling himself that there was another way out. He _had_ to tell himself that. He couldn’t risk her calling the Panthers and them getting to Peter, Elizabeth, and their unborn son.

He had to protect them his family. Any way he could.

* * *

* * *

 

Over a year later

Peter came downstairs from putting his one year old to sleep. He was alone in the house since Elizabeth was at an event and would be home late. Normally around the holidays Elizabeth was busy planning plenty of events and it was only a few days till Christmas. Peter walked over to the fridge and grabbed a beer.

He heard a knock on the front door. He wondered who would be at the door this late. He put his now open beer down on the counter and went to answer it.

He was surprised to see a small bald man, “Mozzie? What are you doing here?” He hadn't seen Mozzie since his son was born.

Mozzie came in without invitation, “We have a problem. I need your help.” He started to pace Peter’s living room.

Peter humored him, “What’s wrong?”

He was about to get started but stopped, “Oh right.” Mozzie reminded himself, “I need to bring you up to speed.”

Peter was confused, “On what?”

“Neal’s alive. He faked his death the day you took down the Panthers.” Mozzie said bluntly

Peter sighed. His shoulders and face fell. He looked at Mozzie with sympathy, “Mozzie. I know the holidays are hard. Trust me, I know, but I need you to be honest with me. How much have you had to drink?” He figured Mozzie was just depressed and drunk.

Mozzie looked at him completely insulted, “I’m completely sober, Suit!” He barked. “He knew the only way to get the Panthers off his back was to die.” He further explained how he thought Neal could have faked his death and why. Also, about the note he got a few days after Neal ‘died.’

As Peter heard more he started to believe Mozzie. “So you're the only person he told, and that was after the fact.”

“Yes. The less you knew the better. You have too much to lose.”

Peter was confused, “What do you mean?”

“If the Panthers can’t find their mole, they go after whoever the mole cares about. Which would be you, me who they don’t know about, and your family. If their mole is already dead…”

“They have no reason to hurt those they care about.”

He pointed in emphasis, “Exactly.” Mozzie added, “It’s quite simple really.”

“Do you still have the note?”

Mozzie shook his head, “No, I had to destroy it. I couldn’t risk anyone finding it.”

Peter was deep in thought. He sat down at the dining room table,  Mozzie followed but stood next to him, “Now, you said you had a problem.”

Mozzie nodded, “Yes, I did. Since everyone’s been sentenced and it’s all boiled over I knew it was finally time to go meet Neal. I went to the address he gave me, a Paris apartment, but he wasn’t there. I talked to the older women who lived there and she had never seen Neal. I talked to the landlord who, get this, said that Neal rented that same apartment a few weeks before the Panthers con. He never came to pick up the keys. So he rented it to someone else.”

“So he never made it to the apartment?” Peter was beginning to think that Mozzie was on to something.

“No, he didn’t. I stayed for a few days and asked around and no one around there has ever seen him.”

“Did he make it to Paris?”

Mozzie started to get agitated, “I don’t know. It’s not like I can get to those kinds of records. That's why I came back.”

Peter got up again and started to pace. He put his head down and rubbed his forefinger and thumb against his forehead, “So let me get this straight. You don’t even know if he left the country? And as of a year ago he was alive.”

“Yes. But he didn’t make it to his safe house in Paris so something must have happened to him!” Mozzie was adamant.

“Or he decided to change plans for whatever reason.”

Mozzie gave bitchface, “Regardless, something happened after he ‘died’. We need to figure out what it was.”

“ _We?”_

Mozzie threw his head back in a sigh, “Yes. We. I tried but I wasn’t getting anywhere by myself. I just got back from Paris so you could help.”

“Do you know what alias he was using?”

Mozzie nodded, “Luckily I do. He gave the landlord the name, Christopher Durrett. He probably used this name on his passport and plane ticket to form an identity around the name.”

Peter didn’t sound encouraged, “Well that’s something I guess.”

“You _guess_?”

“Mozzie.” Peter lectured, “It’s been _over_ _a year_ since we took down the Panthers. That means that we’re over a year behind Neal. He _literally_ could be _anywhere_ with _any_ name. And that’s if the Panthers didn’t find him anyway. That could very well be why he never showed up at the apartment.” Mozzie was silent. Peter turned compassionate and tried to prepare Mozzie, “You do know that the odds aren’t looking good for a happy reunion, right? And the trail is so cold. There's aren't many viable options.” Peter took a breath, “There could be other reasons why Neal decided not to go the safe house in Paris, but the theory that makes the most sense is that the Panthers knew he wasn’t dead, found him, and killed him. You know that right?”

Good theory, it made sense...but it was incorrect.

Mozzie was quiet but adamant, “I need to know why he never showed up. I knew he was alive almost since day 1 and I did nothing because I _thought_ he was okay. He _told me_ in the note that he was okay and not to worry or come see him yet. To wait until it all blew over. I _need_ to know what happened.” Peter could tell how _immensely_ guilty Mozzie felt about this. How emotional this was for him.

“I have some friends at JFK and LaGuardia. I’ll ask them to run the alias and Neal’s face through facial recognition for the dates surrounding the Panthers sting. We’ll see if he left the country and where he went. Then we’ll go from there.”

“He could have flown from Newark or Teterboro if he wanted to be more discreet.”

Peter nodded, “I’ll check those too.” He reassured Mozzie, “We’ll figure this out. We will.”

Mozzie wished he could be more hopeful, but since it had been so long, he would never admit it but he wasn’t too optimistic about actually finding out what happened.


	3. Getting Started

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Mozzie try to start putting the pieces together about what happened to Neal.

“Hey, David. It’s Peter Burke.” He said over the phone as he sat at his kitchen table. He was on the phone with an old friend who now worked for the TSA at JFK Airport.

“Hey, Peter. What’s up?”

“I need you to do a big favor for me.”

“Sure, what?”

“I need you to run a name for me and search some video footage for a match.”

“What’s the name?”

“Christopher Durrett.”

“What dates?” He expected within the last few weeks.

“First week of June.”

David sighed, he didn’t expect that, “Seriously?”

Peter finished, “Of last year.”

David was in exasperated disbelief, “What? Jesus Christ, Peter. You’ve got to be kidding me.” There was silence, “You’re not kidding me.”

Peter rubbed his face with his free hand, “No I’m not kidding. I _really_ need you to see if that name got on a flight and where he went. I’m sending you a photo now and I need you to verify that person got on the plane.” Peter wouldn’t be surprised if Neal used more than one alias for this. One to get into the country and another to get an apartment. He wanted to see Neal physically getting on a plane and where it was going. “Check all flights to Paris during that time first.”

David’s irritation was rising rapidly, “You know how many flights go from JFK to De Gaulle in a week? Lots. Let alone how many people go through here on a daily basis.”

“I know.” Peter looked down in desperation

“This is so old I’m going to have to dig through the archives to find this. Then I have to look through all those records. It’s going to take a while.”

“I know. So, you’re do it?” Peter was hopeful.

“Fine. I’ll do it. It’ll take a while though.”

“Thank you so much! I greatly appreciate this.”

“You owe me, _big time._ ”

“I know. Thank you again.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll let you know.”

Peter soon hung up. Mozzie was sitting across from him at the table, “So?”

“He’s not happy about it but he’s going to get back to me.”

“Well, since the last three told you to go to hell I consider this to be a rousing success.”

“When should he get back to you?”

“Probably a few days.” Mozzie groaned, “Hey, like you said, this was a win. We have to take what we can get. This is all we’ve got right now.”

* * *

 

About a week later David got back to Peter, “Hey, Peter. It’s was tedious as hell but I finally finished. I’m sending you a copy of the video now.”

“So you got something?”

“Christopher Durrett got on a plane to Paris De Gaulle that Friday afternoon. I checked the security footage and your guy did get on the plane.”

Peter breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t exactly sure why, but he was glad that he had something to work from.

“If you want to see what happened after he got off the plane you’re going to have to contact De Gaulle. I doubt they’ll play ball but it’s worth a shot.” David suggested

“Thank you, David. I owe you one.”

“You do and you’re welcome.”

When Peter hung up he called Mozzie. “Hey, Mozzie. We have proof that Neal got on the plane.”

“Well that’s encouraging.”

“Yeah, I’m going to contact Charles De Gaulle now and see if we can get access to their security footage.”

“Good luck with that.” Sarcasm dripped from Mozzie’s voice.

“Thanks.” Peter replied flatly. He hung up and contacted the airport’s security.

* * *

 

“Video footage! Video!” He slowly shouted over the phone as he paced his living room. The guy he was talking to didn’t know any English, and Peter didn’t know any French. Finally, Peter had an idea. He ran to his computer on the kitchen table and typed everything into a translator and had it read it back. He thought that was a pretty smart idea, until it backfired when the guy couldn’t understand the translator through the phone. Peter heavily sighed, and muttered, “This is a nightmare.”  He heard a knock at the door and walked over to answer it.

He was relieved to see Mozzie, “Oh thank God. You know French right?”

“Fluently. Why?”

“Talk to this guy from the airport.” He shoved his cell phone to Mozzie. He picked it up and started to talk to the guy.

Peter listened as Mozzie spoke, not having the slightest clue as to what was going on. He noticed that Mozzie started to raise his voice. He wondered what was going on. Soon Mozzie stopped talking for a moment, “I’m now on hold with his boss. He doesn’t want to give us the tapes.” Peter nodded in acknowledgement. Mozzie soon spoke to the manager. Peter watched the seemingly heated conversation, waiting to ask Mozzie what the hell happened. When he finally hung up, Peter eagerly asked,

“So?”

“After some convincing they’re giving us all the security footage.”

“That’s great.”

“From the _whole_ airport from that date. We have to go through it. _All_ of it.”

Peter hung his head and sighed, “They’re giving us the middle finger.”

Mozzie nodded, “Exactly.”

* * *

 

Once they got the footage they made a few pots of coffee and started to go through it. They were trying to find Neal on the footage. They finally found which gate the plane arrived at and eventually managed to follow him through the airport. They last saw in the Arrivals Hall near the exit.

“Wait, who’s that?” Peter asked, “Roll it back.” Mozzie did

“Who’s he talking to?” He saw a woman bump into him and they started talking.

“I don’t know.” Mozzie curiously watched

“It seems like they don’t know each other, but they seem to be hitting it off.” They noticed the smiles and almost flirty body language.

“They’re leaving together. It looks like he's going willingly.” Peter noted, “Could she be someone he was meeting up with?”

Mozzie brought up, “Perhaps, but let’s hope it stayed consensual.” Peter gave him a questioning look, “Just putting it out there.”

“She could be someone who worked for the Panthers. We don’t have enough to rule it out yet.”

Mozzie jumped up eagerly, “Let’s go find her and talk to her. Find out what she knows.”

Peter tried to calm him down, “Okay, we will, but we have to id her first.” He didn’t sound too confident, “From some very old surveillance photos.”

They thought for a moment. Mozzie brought up, “If we go with the theory that she was with the Panthers at some point and they called on her. They’d know her. At least more than we know.”

Peter looked at Mozzie like his was insane, “I put them away for numerous lifetimes. What makes you think _any_ of them would talk? Moreover, give me the truth?”

Mozzie uselessly shrugged, “It’s a start. We _have_ to try _something_.” He deeply sighed. Peter knew Mozzie was upset.

Peter felt the need to reassure him, “We’ll figure this out. We will.”

Mozzie started pacing around Peter’s kitchen. “I know how this will more than likely end. He probably got himself killed trying to protect us from the Panthers. We’ll be lucky to find _anything_.”

Mozzie was partly right. Neal wasn’t dead...yet. Sometimes he just wished he was. Mozzie was right about one thing...Neal was trying to protect his family.

Peter tried to console him. “We’ll id her, find her, and we’ll ask about what happened that night. It will probably take some time, but we’ll do it. Together.”

* * *

 

The next day Peter went to the few prisons that now housed the Panthers. He spoke to the first three members with varying degrees of success. The last one he had left  was the leader, Alan Woodford. He was serving 3 consecutive life sentences in Sing Sing. 

Peter walked into the meeting room where Woodford was sitting at a table. They were the only ones in the room.

“Peter Burke. What brings you here?” He was interested in why Peter wanted to talk to him.

Peter walked over and sat down and put the file on the metal table. “I need you to identify someone.”

“You need _my_ help with something?” He sat back with a small smile.

“I’m open to negotiation. I can talk to the Warden, get you the little things that can make life in prison a little more bearable.”

Woodford laughed, “I’m not helping you,” He added in a mocking tone, “ _Agent.”_

Peter nodded, “Okay then. If you don’t help me and tell me the truth I’ll talk to the Warden and get you life in solitary.”

The smile left Woodford’s face in a second.

“I don’t give a damn about you. I just want the information. So if you don’t give it to me then I will not hesitate to make sure you don’t see the light of day ever again. It would just take one call.”

Woodford was silent. Peter opened the file to the picture, turned it around, and pushed it towards him. “Do you know this woman?”

Woodford looked at the woman. He didn’t know her. Never seen her before in his life...but he _really_ hated Peter.

“Yeah I knew her. Worked a few jobs a few years back.”

Peter didn’t know whether or not to believe him, “What’s her name?”

“I don’t remember everyone I ever did business with.”

“Well try!” Peter demanded

So he made up an alias, “Monica...something. I don’t remember.”

Peter didn’t know whether or not to believe him, “What kind of jobs did she do?”

“She was a fence in the EU. She’d fence just about anything.” Woodford was straight up lying. “Is that all?”

Peter realized he wasn’t going to get anything else from Woodford. He needed to fact check what he was told. He was doubtful but he was still going to fact check it anyway.

He left the prison without a word and called Mozzie.

“So, how many of them do you think actually told you the truth?” There was a sense of sarcasm in his voice.

“The two that told me to go fuck myself I bet were being pretty honest.” Mozzie slightly chuckled, “The other two, I don't know. I got a yes and a no.”

“It was more useful that we thought then.”

“I’ll fill you in when I get back. Basically Woodford claimed she was a fence in the EU, but I'm taking it with a grain of salt.”

Before Peter could hang up Mozzie brought up, “You know, they were both last seen in Paris. If she actually is a fence, people there probably know her. There’s only so much we can do stateside.”

Peter sighed and lowered his head as he approached his car, “I’ve been thinking about that actually.” He paused, “I need to talk to El about it. I also don’t want to leave little Neal for too long. I promised El when she got pregnant that I’d be there for him.”

Mozzie sighed, “I get it. I’ll make the arrangements while you talk to her. Let me know if I’m making arrangements for four instead of two.”

“Will do. But I will probably be just the two of us though. She won’t want to bring a one year old on a 7 hour flight.”

“Yeah, sounds about right. Will she be upset?”

“Yeah, she will be.”

“She’ll understand right?”

“This time. I hope so.”


	4. New Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Elizabeth argue. Mozzie and Peter head to Paris to find answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sudden inspiration hit. I'm glad I could have another chapter up so quickly.

“You WHAT?!” Elizabeth yelled at Peter. She was standing behind their kitchen island, Peter was standing on other side of it.

He tried to calm her down, “It had to be done. We needed to start somewhere, Hun.”

It was pretty obvious that Elizabeth was fuming, “I can’t believe you went to see them! Why would you do something so damn stupid?! You know how the trial went!”

When the Panthers went on trial, because none of them would take deal, it was hard for the Burkes. They were just about to welcome their son and they had been threatened by the Panthers more than once. Actually, they had threatened everyone in the White Collar division. Causing each of the Panthers to be put in solitary until trial. Since Peter was the only ‘living’ person from the heist not on trial, he had to testify about their plan and the execution.  He testified last and was not named specifically until he walked into the courtroom. The Marshals offered Witness Protection but Peter refused. He couldn’t help but remember Neal’s experience with it. He said he could protect this family, and he did. The threats stopped when the Panthers were each put in solitary. After they were each convicted and sentenced they were split between Attica and Sing Sing.

He put his hands on his wife’s shoulders, “It’s okay. I made some calls. They’re going into solitary. For good this time. They can’t hurt us.”

“How do you know that?”

 “I talked to the Wardens. I was angry they didn’t already put them there. I called in some favors. We’re going to be okay.”

Elizabeth didn’t underestimate their reach. She had been worried since the trial. The worry had subsided for a while, but now it came back.

“Now you want to go to Paris with Mozzie to find Neal?” Peter had updated Elizabeth each step of the way, but was hesitant to tell her this.

Peter sighed, “Yes.”

“How long will you be there? I have a job here. We have a son, Peter.”

“Honestly, I wish I could say.” Elizabeth’s face dropped. “Something happened to him, El. I just know it. I can’t shake this feeling that he needs me. I need to find him. One last time.”

She sighed, she knew what he had to do. “You’re not allowed to die, or get hurt.” She had said that countless times during the trial. He gave her a tight hug. “I’ll be okay. I promise.”

She prayed he was right.

 

Soon Peter said some very emotional goodbyes and Mozzie picked him up. He handed him a ticket, “Here.”  
Peter mockingly asked, “What name are you going by today?” Mozzie gave him bitchface, “What? I’m a federal agent who’s overlooking the fact that I know you’ll be leaving the country with a fake passport. The _least_ I’m going to do is give you shit about it.”

Mozzie shook his head, “Point taken.”

* * *

 

Once they arrived in Paris they went to an apartment Mozzie got.

“I’m going to ask around see if anyone knows her.”

“I’m going to go the local PD. See if they can be of any help. You’ve got to come with me because I need someone who speaks French.”

Mozzie groaned, “When are you going to learn it?”

“I’m working on it.” Peter said with slight agitation, “Until then, I have you.”

They walked into a precinct of the Police Nationale, formally known as the Sûreté, that evening in hopes that someone could help them. Peter thought that maybe they could use their resources. Mozzie was against this idea. The precinct was large and brightly lit. They were desks neatly set up around the office. They walked into an office where they introduced themselves to Major Bruneau and Capitaine Badeaux, two older men, and they explained the situation. Major Bruneau hid a slight chuckle.

“Agent, you want us to help you find someone who has been legally dead for over a year?”

“Yes. We have reason to believe we didn't die during the heist and something happened to him.” Peter repeated

“And you want us to help find him.” Capitaine Badeaux added

“I feel that we could work well together.”

A male Lieutenant a little younger than Peter came in and put some files on the Capitaine’s light wooden desk and said a few words about another case, “Voici les fichiers pour l'affaire Adnet.”

“Merci.” He turned his attention back to Mozzie and Peter. The Lieutenant stayed and listened for his own curiosity from the corner of the small office.

The Capitaine continued, “I’m sorry Agent, but we have other pressing cases. We can’t pursue this case. Good luck.”

The Major who was standing next to the desk muttered, “Si vous trouvez quelque chose, ce ne sera que des os. Tu perds ton temps.” _If you find anything at all, it will just be bones. You're wasting your time._

Mozzie whipped his head towards Major Bruneau, clearly angry. He said in perfectly accented French, “Excusez-moi, si vous avez quelque chose à dire, dites-le à mon visage, connard!” _Excuse me, if you have anything to say, say it to my face, asshole!_

The Frenchmen turned their heads in surprise that Mozzie knew perfect French.

In the silence the Lieutenant who was standing in the corner commented, “Oh snap!” He then muttered to no one in particular, “Did I finally use that phrase correctly?” He didn’t have a handle on English phrases or slang yet.  

Peter turned and muttered to him, “I don’t know what they said, but I think so.”

Capitaine Badeaux got them back on track, “I’m sorry, but we have work to do. I can’t help you find your friend.” They continued to stand there. He glared at them, “Good day, gentlemen.”

As they walked out of the precinct that evening Mozzie said, “I wasn’t on board with that plan anyway. I don’t know what they would have done anyway.”

“It was worth a shot.”

They heard a voice calling out behind them, “Excusez-moi! Excusez-moi! Agent!” They turned around to see the Lieutenant from the office. He was a little shorter than Peter and a little younger with dark brown hair and deep blue eyes.  

He offered a handshake, “Lieutenant Jérémy Leroux.” He introduced, “You were asking about your friend?”

Peter accepted the handshake, “Yes, you’ve seen him or the woman?”

“No, but I want to help.”

Naturally, Mozzie was suspicious, “Why?”

“Because I believe you two. I heard about the Panther case. It was amazing work. He deserves to have justice.”

Peter was relieved, “Thank you.”

Jérémy asked, “So, where do we start?”

Mozzie responded, “Ask around, see if anyone can id that woman. See if she really was a fence.”

* * *

 

She grabbed some fresh meat from where she had recently skinned a large red deer. She was soaked in sweat and her pants, boots, and winter jacket had blood on them.  She put the meat in a plastic bag and left, locking up the shed behind her. She walked over to the cabin about 50 feet away. There was a small garden against the cabin wall and bare fruit trees around the area. The clearing was covered in snow and evergreen trees. There was a river to the right of the shed.

She input the code on the keypad and entered the small dark cabin. She was casual, like everything was normal, “Hey, got an amazing kill today. Shot a red deer right between the eyes from about a few hundred yards away. I’m pretty impressed with myself.” She put the meat on the small kitchen counter area, took off her boots and jacket, and walked over to the bed where Neal was clutching with a death grip to an infant, a little girl, about 6 months old.

“Hey, Pumpkin!” She cooed.  Neal tightened his grip on the child. She got annoyed, “ _God, Neal._ Why do you always have a death grip on her when I’m around?  It’s not like I’m going to hurt her...unless you make me.” She shook her head and walked back to the kitchen where she unlocked a drawer and took out a large sharp knife. She started cutting up the meat, much more violently and louder than necessarily. Each time he heard the knife slam the cutting board he flinched, just a little. After putting the meat in the oven she walked across the cabin to the bathroom.

“Going to shower while the deer’s cooking. Skinning a deer really makes you sweat. Dinner should be ready in a little while.” She smiled.

Neal kept his grip on the child.


	5. Dishonorably Discharged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mozzie and Peter work with Jérémy Leroux to figure out what happened to Neal. They identify the woman at the airport.

“Do you have anywhere we can work? Because we can’t work here.” Jérémy asked

“There’s got an apartment a little while from here.” Peter replied and motioned for him to follow. He was glad that he managed to get someone to help them. Mozzie was naturally reluctant and suspicious, he only agreed out of necessity. Although he seemed to draw the line at taking a stranger to their location.

He shook his head, “How about somewhere else?”

Peter looked at him in confusion and pulled him aside, “What are you doing? He wants to help us.”

“We don’t know if he really wants to help. He could be working for someone.”

Peter sighed in annoyance, “Mozzie, I don’t have time for your paranoia right now. I’m taking him to the apartment.” He walked back to Jérémy and they continued walking to the car. Mozzie groaned and followed.

They walked into the small two bedroom, two bathroom apartment. Peter was surprised Mozzie was able to get it on such short notice...he didn’t ask how. At the moment it was mostly just a place to crash and get work done. Peter walked into the small living area and motioned for the others to follow, they did. He turned on the lamp on the side table. On the wooden coffee table he had the file of what little evidence they had collected so far.

Peter sat on the brown couch and opened the file, “Here’s what we have so far, but before that we have to catch you up on how we got to this point.”

Mozzie piped up, “I’ll get the wine.”

* * *

 

Over some wine and beer they filled in Jérémy on who Neal was and his history. Jérémy nodded in shock, “Wow. That’s...quite a story. So, you need to find him again.”

Peter nodded solemnly, “Yeah. Yeah I do.”

“Here’s what we have now. He left De Gaulle with this woman.” Mozzie pointed to the woman in the surveillance photos.

“We’re working on identifying her. I made a few calls, haven’t heard back yet. Mozzie...sent out pigeons...or whatever the fuck he does.”

Mozzie whipped his head offended, “Estelle is not for that. She is for-”

“Point is, the first step is identifying her and questioning her about what happened after they left the airport.”

Jérémy nodded, “Sounds right.” His phone rang from his dark navy blazer pocket “A moment.” He picked it up and spoke French to the woman on the phone. He hung up and put the phone back in his pocket, “That was my wife. I need to go home to help with the kids.”

“Aw, how many do you have?” Peter asked out of sheer curiosity.

“Three. Ages, two, five, and seven.” He smiled

“Mine’s going to be two in a few months.”

“We’ll pick this up tomorrow then?” Mozzie asked, getting back on track.

Jérémy nodded, “Yeah. I can run her picture and see if I find anything.” He took a copy of the surveillance photo from the open file.

* * *

The next afternoon Peter was at the apartment he got a call.

“Hey, it’s Jones.”

“Hey, Jones. You got anything on that photo?”

“I looked off the record and at first, no. Although I had a feeling that there was something that I wasn’t finding.”

“And?”

His voice turned serious, “It’s not good, Peter.”

Peter sighed and face palmed, “This whole situation isn’t good, Jones. What did you find?”

Jones took a breath, “I called in a few favors and found out that her name is Christina Mendoza. She’s ex-Army. Her file was sealed after she was dishonorably discharged.”

“What caused her discharge?”

“She excelled in close quarters combat but later became a sniper. A good one too.”

Peter rubbed his face, “Oh god.”

“Yeah.”

“Why was she discharged?”

“As a sniper she allegedly made unauthorized hits and made hits for money.”

Peter took a breath, “Oh god.”

“Yeah. They couldn’t make anything stick so they dishonorably discharged her. She’s been more or less off the grid ever since.”

“You’re ex-Navy, do you think you could possibly ask around, get more info about her. It would really help trying to locate her.”

“I’ll make no promises, but I’ll give it a shot.”

“Thanks. I owe you one.”

* * *

 

That night when Jérémy came over to work on the case Peter told them about the development.

Mozzie uselessly hoped, “Well maybe she’s lost her skills.” He raised his eyebrows and gave an uncomfortable glance.

“She could take all three of us down and not even lose her breath.” Peter informed.

A pretty accurate description of her hand to hand combat abilities.

“Well, maybe not me. It would be more of a fair fight.” Jérémy commented from across the living room. That got curious looks from Peter and Mozzie.

“I’m ex-Army Special Forces. I joined the Police Nationale when my wife got pregnant the first time.”

“With who we are looking for, now I’m glad that we have you on our side.” Mozzie commented.

Jérémy warned, “We need to be careful. Because based on what you said...you don’t want to mess with her.”

He was right.

Peter’s phone rang again, he picked it up from the coffee table. “Hello.”

“Hey, It’s Jones. So I talked to some old friends who knew people. Eventually I found some people who knew her.”

“Alright I’m going to put you on speakerphone with Mozzie and Jérémy from the Police Nationale.” He pressed the speakerphone icon on the smartphone and placed it on the coffee table.

“Okay, what did you hear?” Peter asked

“A lot of rumors. Like how she joked with someone that she loved her job as a sergeant because she could control and kill people.”

“Control freak?” Peter commented

“Seems like it.”

Jérémy leaned in, “How did she get that far in the ranks with rumors like that?”

“Well some don’t think it was her merit as much as her body.” Jones informed

“What?”

Jérémy explained, “She...how do you say it...fucked to the top. She used sex to get what she wanted. In case, power and control.” Not much had changed on that front.

“Exactly.” Jones added, “What also put people on edge is that...so when snipers are just starting out, most have to come to grips with what they do, like morally. I heard that Christina never had that problem. That she took a little _too_ much pleasure in her kills.”

Peter speculated, “Perhaps that’s why she started to go off book.”

“Finally, I heard that she had some obsessive tendencies. When she found something she wanted, she _would not_ stop or let _anyone_ get in her way.”

Mozzie’s eyebrows raised, “Well that’s terrifying.”

They soon hung up and Mozzie asked, “She sounds pretty insane. What’s her connection to Neal?”

“That’s what we have to find out. We have to find her and find the connection.” Even though Peter was a little afraid to find out. Because they were all thought that she killed him.

* * *

Neal watched the child like a hawk as she crawled around the floor. She had recently started grabbing furniture trying to pull herself up. Christina was sitting near the small bookshelf reading. The infant tried to pull herself up by grabbing the bedpost, after she managed to grasp it, she let go. She stood for a second before crashing down to her knees. She immediately started crying, in between wails she cried out, “Da! Da! Da!” Neal immediately got up from where he was sitting on the bed, picked her up, and started to comfort her.

Christina looked up from her book, her brows furrowed as she studied Neal and the infant. She closed her book and put it down. “Why did she ask for you?”

Neal whipped around to face her, his eyes widened in fear, “I...I was sitting on the bed. I was probably the first one she saw.”

She got up from the chair and walked over to them. She reached out to grab the child, but Neal’s grip tightened. She slowly looked at him and gave him a death glare that shook him to his core, “Give me the child, Neal.”

He released his grip. As Christina pulled her from Neal she started wailing again and reached out for Neal. Christina started heavily breathing. Christina tried to soothe the child but no matter what she did she kept crying and reaching out for Neal.

Neal watched them like a hawk. He saw her jaw clench, her face was red with anger, and her stiff posture. He knew that her anger was escalating. He hoped and prayed the infant calmed soon. He knew there wasn’t anything else he could do. Neal knew that an outburst was coming. He braced himself for the inevitable blast wave.

When the infant would not calm she stormed over to the crib next to the bookshelf and put the child down. Then she turned towards Neal, “You should’ve known this isn’t good, Neal.”

“What?”

She stared him down and slowly walked over to him, like a lion stalking its prey, “You turned my child against me, Neal.”

He backed up and put his hands in front of his chest, “No, no, no. I wouldn’t.”

She walked until she in his face, she hadn’t lost eye contact with him. Without looking she grabbed his wrist in a wrist lock by grabbing his the outside of his hand and locking her fingers below his thumb. She squeezed her fingers to create pressure and quickly twisted his wrist to the right, causing intense pain. She perfectly executed the wrist lock in a few swift movements causing Neal to wince then cry out in pain.

“You fucked up.” She tightened her grip to an armbar by outstretching his arm and swinging her hand down on his elbow joint and squeezed to create immobilizing pressure while still maintaining the wrist lock on the same right arm.

She smiled as he took deep breaths trying not to cry out in pain again. She taunted, “You know, it would only take one move to break your wrist. I just need to twist it a little more.”

He pleaded through gritted teeth, “Please don’t. Please.” She looked down at him and smiled.

She was enjoying this. “You know what, you need to be taught a lesson.” With one swift movement she twisted his wrist all the way to the right. Neal screamed in pain when he heard and felt a few of the bones in his wrist crack and snap apart.

She finally released her grip on his wrist and arm and kicked him to the floor. “Now look what you made me do. Why did you make me do that?” Her voice sounded condescending sweet.

Neal laid on his back on the floor, trying to catch his breath and clutching his broken wrist, which was already starting to swell up.

She walked over to the still crying infant, picked her up, and left the cabin without a word. Neal was in so much incredibly intense pain that he could barely form the words to uselessly plead with her to stop.


	6. What Remains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter chats with Elizabeth. Jérémy comes across a possible break in the case.

Neal finally managed to get himself up and sat at the table, holding his broken wrist. When he sat down he examined his wrist. He couldn’t move it and it was swollen to almost twice it’s size. He thought if there was anything he could use as a splint, but there wasn’t anything he had access too. He sat back and held his wrist. He leaned his head against the wall, closed his eyes, and took deep breaths. Tears started to fall from his face. He didn’t even try to wipe them away.

He didn’t know how much longer he could do this.

He didn’t know how much longer he could survive there.

He was waiting for the day that she just snapped and kills him, either by pure coincidence or on purpose. He knew she was more than capable of doing it.

He knew that no one was looking for him. He knew that if he ever tried to escape, she would tip off the Panthers, hurt the child, or hurt him. Most likely a combination of the three.

Although Neal didn’t know that not only were the Panthers serving life sentences but were in solitary. Their threat was mostly theoretical now, not impossible, but improbable. Christina knew all this, but she knew that Neal didn’t know. She kept up with the Panthers trials online out of curiosity and wondered if there was anything she could use for her advantage. She still used them as blackmail. Christina knew that she could easily take out anyone Neal cared about and just say it was the Panthers, or lie and just say the Panthers took out the Burkes. Neal wouldn’t know any different, he had no way to think any different.

 

She came back in without a word and put the child on the floor. She walked over to the table where Neal was sitting. She placed a first aid kit and duct tape on the table. Neal looked at her curiously.

“Give me your hand.”

Understandably, Neal was hesitant. She glared at him and grabbed his broken wrist, laying it on the table, causing him to hiss in pain. She opened the first aid kid and grabbed an elastic bandage and started to wrap his wrist. She grabbed some duct tape, ripped off a piece, and used it to secure the bandage. She pulled out some painkillers from the kit, “Here.”

Due to past experiences, he really didn’t want drugs from her, but another part of him didn’t care because he was in such intense pain. He cautiously took the painkillers. She pulled a small watch from her pocket, the only timepiece in the windowless cabin, “Oh, it’s time to make dinner.” She mindlessly put the watch back and got up from the table.

* * *

 

Peter sat on the couch that evening with his laptop to video chat with Elizabeth.

“Hey, hun!” His shoulders relaxed and he smiled as the sight of his wife.

“Hey, hun. I miss you.”

“Miss you too. How’s Paris?”

“I’m stuck with Mozzie, I want to figure this out and get home.”

She smiled, “I know you’ll figure it out.” There was a pause between them, “Neal misses you. He’s been talking more, learning more words everyday.” She smiled, “I would get him but I finally managed to get him down for a nap.”

He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. Instead he fought off tears. He hated being so far away from his family.

She noticed his moodshift, “You know why we didn’t-”

“I know.” Peter finished. They discussed it at length before Peter left. Taking a toddler on a transAtlantic flight is a recipe for disaster and Elizabeth couldn’t leave her business.

There was another silence between them.

“So any leads on where that woman, Christina, might be?”

“We’re looking, but it’s slow going.” His tone was somber, “She’s ex-Army, El. He might have left with her willingly....but I don’t think...I don’t think it stayed that way. With everything that I’ve heard about her. She was up to something. She had a mission. She has the skills to...” His voice broke before he could finish his sentence. He was going to say that she has the skills to kill him.

Peter rubbed his face then sighed, “After everything...he deserves justice. He deserves at least that.” He took a breath, “And I need to know what happened after they left the airport. Also...I want…” His voice started to shake, “I want...to br-bring home...what remains.” Tears fell down his face, he wiped them away with a light sniffle.

“Oh god, hun.” It shattered her heart that she couldn’t be there to comfort him.

He wiped away some more tears, “As much as I want to believe he’s okay and off sitting on a beach or living in some city, that what happened after wasn’t, deadly...she’s a highly skilled marksman and combat expert. The rational part of me knows that it’s highly unlikely that whole encounter ended well.” He never truly expected to bring Neal home alive. It had been so long and Christina seemed like a threat.

Elizabeth didn’t know how to comfort him. Ordinarily she would give him a hug, but you can’t hug over video chat. “You said she was a sniper, right?”

Peter wondered where she was going with this, “Yeah.”

“If she did do it...then he probably never saw it coming. Never felt a thing.” As grim as it sounded, she hoped that offered a small comfort. 

“After so much time, I hope we can track her down. So hopefully we’ll get some answers.”

“You will. I know you will.”

* * *

Jérémy was in his office late that evening running Christina’s name through every database he could think of. He didn’t find her name in any of them. Which really alarmed him because he _should_ have found her name through immigration and customs. If she entered the country around when Neal did, her name should have showed up. He did a broad search through immigration for her name for the months surrounding Neal’s departure. He didn’t find anything.

He knew that this meant one of two things. Either she used an alias or she entered through another EU country part of Schengen Area. An area that encompasses most EU states and a few non-member countries. Any person, irrespective of nationality, may cross the internal borders without being subjected to border checks. However, the competent national authorities can carry out police checks also at the internal borders and in border areas, provided that such checks are not equivalent to border checks.

Jérémy called in a few favors from neighboring countries’ immigration departments, Spain, Germany, and Italy, to see if she entered there and traveled to Paris from there. He was waiting to hear back.

 

Major Bruneau came into his office and said in French, “There’s been a murder, we need to go.”

That caught his attention, even though they were a big city, murders weren’t as common as in the US,  “Oh, okay, where?”

“The outskirts.”

They arrived at the crime scene shortly after. It was a field outside the city, around a few small farms. The scene was marked with crime tape and large lamps lit the area. Law enforcement and crime scene techs surrounded the area.

The coroner briefed Jérémy and Bruneau in French as they entered the crime scene. “A farmer and his dog found the body when he was digging to bury his other recently deceased dog.” They walked up to where the body was dug up. It was a dirty skeleton in a grave about four to five feet deep and a few feet wide.

“We’ve been able to learn so far that the victim is male, caucasian, mid to late thirties, buried over a year due to insect activity and amount of decomposition. When we get the bones to the morgue I will be able to discern cause of death. Hopefully we will be able to identify him. Although with this amount of decomposition I’m not making any promises.”

Bruneau asked Jérémy, “Doesn’t that match the description of the American you’re trying to find on your own time?”

Jérémy was thinking the same thing. He stood in shock. Covering his mouth with his hand, he looked at the bones, “I need to call Peter...Because we might have just found Neal Caffrey’s remains.”


	7. Identification

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jérémy finds out how the murder victim he found died. He asks Peter and Mozzie for help to see if the body is Neal's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm getting busy again. I have my final semester at university and an internship so I don't know how much time I'll have to write. I'm going to try to be regular but I'm not going to make any promises, so I'm sorry.

Early the next morning Jérémy and Bruneau were walking to the morgue. It was cold for February but the morgue wasn’t too far from the office.

“Have you told Peter Burke about the body yet?” Jérémy looked down at the sidewalk. “I will take that as a no.”

“I’m waiting, till we have more information.”

He nodded, “Well Dr. Garnier should be able to tell us more.”

They walked into the morgue and into the autopsy room where Dr. Garnier was examining the bones. 

“What do you have?”

She responded, “Other than what I told you last night, that he is a male, caucasian, mid to late thirties, about 1.83 meters tall, buried over a year.” 

The young coroner started to explain her findings with intense medical jargon before Jérémy raised his hand and stopped her, “We don’t know what any of that means. French please.”

She stopped and thought for a few moments, “There’s evidence on the bones that the victim was tortured before he was killed. Cause of death is a shot through the head.” She pointed to the indications on the bones including a bullet wound on the skull. “You see these stress fractions on the radius and ulma, indicates that the victim was restrained but still tried to fight back.” She pointed to the arm bones. She walked around the autopsy table to the and pointed to the right wrist, “The victim’s right wrist was broken. It didn’t heal well. There are various other breaks and cracks in various stages of remodeling."

Major Bruneau clarified, “So this guy was used a punching bag before he was shot?”

Dr. Garnier nodded. She noticed that Jérémy had been oddly silent and couldn’t stop looking at the remains. “Lieutenant Leroux, are you okay?”

He turned his attention to her and nodded, “Yeah...I’m fine. There’s a case I’ve been working on, that matches the description and timeline. I’ll send you the dental records to see if you can make the id.”

She nodded, “Good. That would make the id much easier. Although I’ll look into other avenues and so should you. Just in case.”

As they were leaving the morgue, Bruneau commented, “If it is your guy, I told you so.” Jérémy turned to look at him, “When they first came in I said that if they find anything it will just be bones. It’s hard to solve a murder with just bones.”

Jérémy quickly retorted, “Well it’s even harder to solve a murder without a body.”

* * *

 

Later Jérémy met his wife, Adrienne, for lunch at a cafe. She was a lovely young French woman  with long straight brown hair. 

Throughout the meal Adrienne noticed that her husband was kind of out of it, not really paying attention, “Mon loup, what’s wrong?”

He stopped pushing food around his plate and looked at her, “I have to give some bad news to some friends later.”

“Does it have to do with the body you found last night? Did you identify him?”

“Yeah it does, but no, we haven't identified him yet. You know that case I’m working off hours? The disappearance of the man who took down the Pink Panthers.” She nodded, “The timeline and description matches. I have to ask Peter for his dental records today.” She reached across the table to caress his arm to comfort him and gave him a sympathetic look, “I know he is going to want to look at the file.”

“And you don’t want him to?”

“If this is their friend, I don’t want Peter or Mozzie to read what happened to him. That he was tortured and used a punching bag, before being shot in the head.” She gave an uncomfortable glance and tried to caressed his arm again. 

“I’m sorry, but they need know what happened.” There was a short silence before she said, “I remember you were very interested in that case. I'm sorry this happened to him.” She was talking about the Panthers case. Jérémy liked to keep up to date with what happened in the world of law enforcement, so he normally heard when big cases broke. When he heard that the best and most dangerous gang of thieves in the world were taken down, that shit was like catnip to him. Even though the FBI severely limited the amount of information given to the press he managed to keep up to date on the trial and heard things through the grapevine. 

“I can’t imagine going through something like that, you know, especially if those remains are Neal’s. Being killed like that would just be so...oh god.” His voice trailed off, “Peter sacrificed a lot to figure this out. He has a wife and child back in the United States. He and his friend deserve answers about what happened.” He was conflicted, they needed answers, but at the same time, the possible answers they had weren't easy to digest.

“Well if it is him, then he can have some answers and hopefully be able to get closure and go back home soon.”  Adrienne smiled, “Also, he’s sounds a lot like you. You’ve traveled around the EU before for a case. I don’t doubt that if you cared enough about a case you’d follow the trails wherever they would lead.”

He shook his head, “I don’t think this is just a case to them. This is personal, Neal seems like their family.”

He was absolutely right.

* * *

 

That evening after work he went over to the apartment where Peter and Mozzie were staying. 

“I..I have some news.” Mozzie could tell by the distraught look on Jérémy’s face that it wasn’t good. He wasn’t alone in this, Peter could also tell that there was something wrong.

“What’s wrong?” Mozzie asked

Jérémy took a breath, “I was called to a crime scene last night. It was a murder.” Their faces dropped. They knew where this was going. “The description and timeline fit, but I need more information to make an identification. I need his dental records and anything else we could use to see if it’s a match.” They looked at Jérémy with grief stricken shocked expressions. Because they knew when you were looking for dental records, there wasn’t much left to identify.

They knew that this outcome was realistically the most likely, but that didn’t make the harsh reality any easier to handle.


	8. Coincidence?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The remains from the field are identified.  
> They find a possible connection to Christina.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a while. I started my last semester at university a couple weeks ago along with an internship. This fic is going to be heating up and I'm really excited about it so I'll try to update as much as I can. Just bear with me for a while.  
> Also, right after I posted this I updated another fic in this series, Out of the Darkness. So you should check that out too!

They stood and stared at Jérémy in shock. “I’m sorry, you know I wouldn’t bring it up if it wasn’t a possibility.”

Mozzie said in a futile attempt to comprehend what he was hearing, “You need...dental records. There...there isn’t….there isn’t much left. Is there?”

Jérémy stood there solemnly, trying to hide his discomfort. He thought of what to tell them, “It’s an older body, yes.”

“I want to see the case file.” Peter insisted, Jérémy knew this was going to happen. “How did he die?”

Jérémy was silent for a moment, “It might not be Neal.”

Peter clenched his fists, “How did he die?”

Jérémy took a deep breath, “He was shot.” He left out all the pre-mortem injuries.

“Where?”

Jérémy paused again, Peter intensely stared him down, demanding an answer. “He was shot in the head.”

Mozzie closed his eyes with a sigh and started to pace. Peter slightly bit his lip and his body slightly fell. He felt like he was a million miles away.

“If you have those records I can give them to the coroner.”

Peter looked at him like he zoned out for a moment and was just getting back to it. “Yeah. Yeah I have those.” He walked over to the coffee table and started looking through some files. When he didn’t find it he walked over to small box of files he had in the corner and knelt down to look through it. He pulled the file out when he finally found it and handed it to Jérémy.

He gave Peter a consoling look, “Thank you. We will figure this out.”

* * *

Jérémy was sitting in his office when he got a call from the coroner. He immediately answered it.

“I identified the remains.”

“And?”

“They don’t match the dental records you gave me. They matched another one from the system.”

Jérémy looked up and breathed a sigh of relief. He could tell Peter and Mozzie that the remains weren’t Neal’s. “Good to hear. Whose remains are they?”

“Gabriel Dubos, age 34, declared missing over a year ago by his sister, Charlotte.”

He grabbed a pen and notepad from his desk and made a note of the names and to tell Peter and Mozzie the news, “I’ll talk to the sister today. Thank you.”

He quickly found Charlotte’s address and headed off. She lived in a apartment in a small town just outside Paris.

He knocked on her apartment door. A small young woman answered the door. She wondered what he wanted.

“Charlotte Boudet?”

“What do you want?”

He showed her his silver badge and identification, “Lt. Jérémy Lourex, Police Nationale.” She let out a sigh and her small frame fell.

“I think I know why you’re here.”

“Can I come in?”

After he came in he told her about the discovery, what was appropriate to tell anyway. Before he could even ask about potential suspects she volunteered, “It was his monster of a husband.”

He was taken aback by her sudden accusation, “Excuse me?”

“Gabriel’s husband, Victor, is a monster. That bastard abused my brother for years.”

"How do you know this?”

“I saw the complete control Victor had over him. Victor barely let him out of his sight. That was when I was allowed to even see him because Victor barely let me even see my brother. When I did, I saw the bruises, the broken bones. When I finally asked they claimed they were from ‘playing football’. Gabriel couldn’t kick a ball to save his life. I knew something was wrong but Gabriel refused to talk about it.” She paused, her voice turned from bitter and angry to hurt, “Until a few days before he went missing. He finally told me about the abuse. That if he ever went missing, it was because of Victor. He wanted to leave, but didn’t know how. He was _so damn scared_ that Victor would find out and kill him.”

“Why?”

“Because Victor’s a professional savate.” Savate was basically French boxing, “He became one after he got out of the army. Between his martial arts training and the fact that he’s built like a brick house. He is great at beating people up. My brother didn’t have too much muscle or fighting skills. Victor could easily beat the shit out of my brother and could most definitely kill him.”

“So Victor has violent impulses or tendencies?”

“Most definitely.”

“Does he own a firearm?”

“Yes, he does. He has a hunting license.”

“Why wasn’t he ever arrested?” Jérémy would have seen that in the case file.

Charlotte bitterly spat, “Because they never had enough evidence.”

Jérémy tried to reassure her, “We will get him this time. I promise.”

 

On the drive back to the office he called Peter, “Do you have the id yet?” He immediately asked before Jérémy had a chance to say anything.

“Yeah I do.”

“I assume that since you’re calling me instead of coming by it’s a false alarm.”

“It wasn’t Neal.” He heard Peter’s relief. He didn’t know whether or not to tell Peter about the similarities he found between Victor and Christina personalities, military backgrounds, and physical abilities. He had a gut feeling that this wasn’t a coincidence.

He knew by now to listen to that feeling. “Even though the remains aren’t Neal’s. I still think there could be a connection. Have you ever come across the name, Victor Dubos?”

“No, why?”

“I’m coming over now.”

* * *

Jérémy came by and over some wine, explained his encounter with Victor’s sister-in-law.

“So you think there’s some sort of connection between Christina and Victor.” Mozzie wasn’t really buying it.

“No, I get it. I probably would have drawn the same conclusions.”

“Thank you, Peter.” Jérémy grabbed the wine bottle from the coffee table to refill his glass. Then he reached down into his messenger bag on the floor and pulled out a file to hand to Peter.

“Here’s everything I could gather on Victor Dubos.” He handed the file across the table to Peter who looked it at and gave him bitchface. “What?”

“I can’t do anything with this.” Peter handed it back.

“Why?”

“Because it’s all in French.”

Jérémy gave him a confused look, “Well what were you expecting? I got it straight from the police database.” He added as a snide remark, “What? It’s not my fault you don’t know French.”

Peter didn’t have the patience for that kind of shit, “What does it say?”

Mozzie was now skimming the file, “Seems like a couple minor complaints, but nothing big.”

Peter declared, “Alright. Let’s still look into him. See if he has any connection to Christina. If he does, we can use it to track her down.”

It was encouraging to have a tangible and workable lead. They felt just a little bit to closer to finding out what happened.

In reality, they were still _miles away_ from any sort of answer.


	9. Possible Liability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter, Mozzie, and Jérémy investigate Victor Dubos possible connection to Christina. Victor Dubos contacts an old business partner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit! This whole series has just surpassed 200,000 words! So I'm so excited about this! Thanks for reading this fic and if you've read other fics in the series, thank you so much! Your views, kudos, bookmarks, and comments, mean the world to me!

“Hey, Hun.” Elizabeth greeted over video chat. Peter could see she was sitting in their living room. He was stretched  on his bed with the laptop on his lap. His day was immediately brightened by the sight of his wife.

“I miss you.” He gave a sympathetic smile

“Miss you too.”

“How’s Neal?”

Her face lit up, “Little bundle of energy, as always. He’s right over there.” She pointed the camera over to the toddler. “Neal, look, it’s Daddy.”

The little boy looked from his blocks and squealed, “Daddy!” He ran over and tried to hug the screen but realized that wasn’t really possible so started waving at the screen instead. Tears filled Peter’s eyes at the sight of his son as he waved back.

“Hey, buddy!”

“Hi, Daddy!”

“How are you?”

“‘M good.”

“You being good for Mommy?” Peter wiped the tears from his eyes.

“Yah.”

Peter smiled. Neal was then distracted by Sachemo who ran up to him and started to headbutt him so he ran to play with him. Elizabeth turned the camera back towards her,

“How’s the investigation going?”

The pure joy on Peter’s face faded and was replaced with agitation, “Slower than I’d like, but it seems like we have a lead. Jérémy’s bringing in a suspect this afternoon. I’m going to go watch.”

“Well that’s encouraging.” There was a pause before she said, “I have to go. We’ll talk later, okay.”

“Okay.”

“Bye, Hun.”

“Bye, Hun.” It broke both of their hearts to log off.

* * *

Peter walked into the precinct and found Mozzie standing outside the dark interrogation room. He was looking through the one way mirror.

“You didn’t miss anything relevant to our case. Jérémy’s just been asking about Victor’s husband.” When a thought crossed Mozzie’s mind he turned to Peter curiously, “Why are you even here? You won’t understand what they’re saying.”

Peter shrugged, “Force of habit I guess. You can give me the play by play updates.”

Inside the interrogation room Jérémy sat back on the metal chair. He took off his black jacket earlier which was hanging off the chair and his light blue tie was loosened. On the table between the men there were various open files and an empty paper espresso cup, “So you have no idea how Gabriel’s body could have ended up in that field?”

Victor, a middle aged strongly built man with jet black hair, sighed and looked at Jérémy from where he was pacing the room, “No, for the hundredth time, I don’t know how he got there.”

Jérémy asked again, still sitting back with his arms crossed, “Where were you when your husband was killed?”

Victor subtly wringed his hands and kept his frustrated pace, “I told you, I was at a match. I lost. There’s records of all of it.”

Jérémy stared at Victor, making sure to have eye contact, “That doesn’t mean you didn’t have a part in his disappearance and murder.”

Victor continued to pace, “What are you implying, Lieutenant?”

Jérémy pulled a file out from under a few others, opened it, and pulled out a photo, “Look, do you know this woman?” Victor stopped pacing when he saw the photo of Christina from the military records but quickly started again. Jérémy saw the quickest glance of fear on Victor’s face when he stopped pacing. He knew that Victor knew her. He just needed to prove it.

He continued his stone calm demeanor, as he pulled some more photos from the file, “You see, originally we thought that the bullet that killed Gabriel was small from a close range, but upon closer inspection, it was a large bullet from a long range. Probably 500 meters or more. Handmade from pure copper.”

Victor sat down and folded his arms. He huffed, “What does that mean?”

“You don’t have the ability to shoot that far, Victor. But she does.” He pointed to the picture.

“How would I even know her?!”

He laid some papers in front of him, “Because when you both were in the military, both of your platoons were stationed in Kabul, Afghanistan for _six months_ . Due to our military relations with the US it’s hard to believe that you didn’t cross paths even _once_.”

Victor was silent. Jérémy continued, “We think that you called Christina and asked for a favor.”

Victor sat back with a smile, “Well then you probably checked my finances and saw nothing irregular...or too regular.”

Victor had him there. Jérémy checked Victor’s financial records for the past three years and found nothing suspicious. No large sums or routinely regular sums had been taken out.

“Explain these receipts for a long list of building materials.” He put the bank statements on the table. He didn’t know if this was related to the case, but he did find it a little suspicious.

Victor was undeterred, “I like to build things. It’s a hobby. Are we done?”

Jérémy changed the subject, “Do you know where Christina might be?”

Victor was interested with this question but didn’t show it. “No, I don’t.”

Jérémy didn’t believe this, “Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

Victor brought the interrogation to a close, “You don’t have anything on me. Or else you would have arrested me long ago. So we’re done here.” Jérémy didn’t stop Victor from leaving...because he couldn’t. He didn’t have enough to arrest him.

Jérémy walked out of the interrogation room Peter and Mozzie were confused, “Why did you let him go?” Peter asked

“Because I don’t have enough evidence to arrest him. He has an alibi for Gabriel’s disappearance and there’s no actual evidence that he hired Christina to kill him.”  

“Why didn’t you keep him longer?” Mozzie asked

“Because it was clear that he wasn’t going to talk about it. We’re going to have to find the connection on our own.” Jérémy wasn’t too hopeful.

Victor was about a block away from the precinct when he ducked into an alley to make a call. When it immediately went to voicemail, he spoke in English to ensure he was understood, “You fucking bitch! You _better_ fucking call me back! We have a big fucking problem!!"

* * *

About two days later Victor was walking home from work when his phone started ringing. He looked at his phone, saw it was a blocked number, and he ducked into a nearby alley. “It’s about fucking time you call back!”

“I call when I call.” Christina was stern on the other end, “What’s wrong?”

“You fucking assured me that no one would find Gabriel’s body!”

“Yeah, and?”

“The police fucking found it! They questioned me for hours!”

Christina tried to calm him down, “Relax, you’ve got an alibi. Also, there’s no proof of our arrangement.”

“Yeah, then how come they asked about the building materials?”

Christina shrugged it off, “You like to build.”

“Then why did they ask about you specifically? About Kabul?”

Christina was silent for a few moments.

Her voice was all business, “What specifically did they ask about me?”

“If I knew you, if I paid you to kill Gabriel, if I knew where you were.”

“And you denied all of it?”

“Of course.” Victor declared, “I am _not_ going down for this alone. If they arrest me I am taking you with me! I will tell them that you killed Gabriel and tell them about that cabin in the forest you had me help build in exchange!”

“No, you’re not.” Christina didn’t miss a beat. 

Victor got snarky, “And why is that?”

She put it simply for him, “If you talk or even _think_ about talking, you’ll end up just like Gabriel. Except this time all you’ll be is some ash on the ground.”

Victor was silent for a few moments, “You know I always found that cabin to be suspicious, but I never said anything. What is it even for?” Christina needed some help building the impenetrable cabin, so she got herself a job. She got help in the form of a strong man's labor in exchange for the murder of his husband. Although she did let him go before making the security details such as a keypad entry and bolted down furniture.

“I’m in retirement.” Christina shrugged it off and got back on topic, “You’re not going to talk.”

“You’re not the only one with a military background, you know! I could take you down if I wanted to!”

Christina actually laughed which _really_ pissed off Victor, “Oh that’s a good one! You should write that one down and tell it at parties.” She calmed down and got serious, “Victor, listen closely, I’ve spent most of my adult life climbing military ranks, learning and creating military strategies and perfecting ways to not only subdue, but to kill. I know for a _fact_ that you just _barely_ made it through basic training. So if I were you, I wouldn't piss me off.” Christina really drove the point home, “You know...when I was a sniper, we had a saying. You never see the one who takes you out. Gabriel had no idea what happened. Never saw it coming. You get my drift, Victor?”

He was stunned into silence.

* * *

Peter walked into the kitchen of the apartment to grab a beer. He was surprised to see the light still on. He thought it turned it off earlier. He walked in and and sighed when he saw Mozzie sitting at the table with an almost empty bottle of wine watching the airport surveillance footage on his laptop. “It’s not going to give you the answers, Mozzie. Just go to bed.”

Mozzie didn’t take his eyes off the screen, “She’s good. She’s doesn’t look evil. He had no idea. No clue.” Peter didn’t know what to say, “I know we don’t have any evidence, but I still wonder if the Panthers hired Christina. If they somehow found out. This Victor lead isn’t panning out to much so far.”

“It’s slow going but it’s not over.” Peter assured

“He deserved better, Peter. He deserved better. Not being lured away to be killed then his body being dumped God knows where.”

Peter came closer and put his hand on Mozzie’s shoulder, “Mozzie, we don’t know-”

Mozzie looked up at him for the first time since Peter came in, “Yes we do, Peter. She’s a fucking fighter, a sniper!...Neal didn’t have a damn chance!” He slammed his laptop closed and stormed out of the kitchen. Peter sighed and cover his face with his hands. He didn’t know what else to say to Mozzie. Saying things like, ‘we’ll find him, we’ll figure this out, or we’ll get her”, were already starting to sound like empty platitudes.

Peter needed to try anything. He needed to keep Mozzie’s morale as high as he could in this situation. He walked over to Mozzie’s room and knocked on the closed wooden door. He came in and saw Mozzie sitting at the desk with his laptop.

“What?” He bitterly spat

Peter took a deep breath, “I don’t know how, and I don’t know when...but we’ll get Neal the justice that he deserves.”

“It won’t bring him back.” Mozzie didn’t know it actually would. “You’d think that it would be easier the second time around.” Peter walked closer and looked at him in confusion, “Knowing that your best friend has been killed.”

Peter just put his hand on Mozzie’s shoulder in silent support. He didn’t bother with the seemingly empty platitudes.

* * *

Throughout the next day Christina kept thinking about Victor and the problem that came with him. She wondered if he was going to say anything. She knew that he was a possible liability. She knew she had to do something about it. One afternoon she left the cabin without a word. Outside in the clearing there was a small garden near the cabin wall which was getting ready for the spring growing season. A laundry line connected a few bare fruit trees. There was a river flowing past the clearing close to the garden. She walked over some melting snow to the shed. It was a small shed, mainly for food and supply storage. She moved a few boxes in the corner and pulled open a hidden door on the floor.

She climbed down the ladder into the hidden room. She pulled the string attached to a single light bulb attached to the ceiling which dimly illuminated the space. There were some tables with various machines for making bullets, a box with a few burner phones, some more survival supplies, a few laptops with secured servers, and her own personal arsenal. She searched through crates of handguns and grenades, shotguns, and sniper rifles before opening one that had a M40 sniper rifle inside. She smiled, “Hello, old friend.” She pulled the rifle from the crate and put it in a black hard cover case and secured it closed.

She walked across the space and opened another box and pulled out a scope, a pair of binoculars, a box of her accompanying handmade copper bullets, a rangefinder, multi tool, compass, mini GPS,  mini thermometer, and notebook. She put all her supplies into her olive green army duffle bag. She looked through a few more crates before finding her old uniform. “Didn’t know if I’d ever need this again.” She muttered as she put on the camouflage suit and tied her thick black hair back in a tight bun at the base of her neck. She threw her duffle over shoulder, grabbed her gun case, and turned off the light on her way out.

* * *

About a week after Jérémy first interrogated Victor he called Peter, “Peter, we have a problem.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Victor disappeared.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m at his apartment because I had more questions for him and his neighbors said that he hasn’t been home in days. I called his trainer to see if he was training for a match or something but he said that Victor went on a hunting trip up north a few days ago and hasn’t come back yet.”

“When was he supposed to be back?”

“His trainer said Monday.” It was Wednesday.

Peter was alarmed by this sudden development, “Do you think he felt the pressure so he ran?”

“I think so.”

“Fuck.” Peter sighed and pressed his thumb and index finger to the bridge of his nose, “He was our only lead.”

“No only is he a lead in Neal’s disappearance but a main suspect in Gabriel's murder, an open investigation. We’ll be looking for him.”

 

In the forests north of Paris, a small fire was reported one sunny morning. By the time responders got there and contained the fire all they found were some burned vegetation and a whole lot of grey ash. When the first responders examined the ash on the ground they found tiny fragmented pieces of charred bone mixed with it.


	10. Sweet Serial Killer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and the others finally get a lead.  
> Christina feels cornered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title by; Serial Killer; Lana Del Rey, Also inspired by; The Devil Within; Digital Daggers; I See Fire; Peter Hollens, and Running Up That Hill; Placebo

Peter went to video chat with Elizabeth but stopped before he could. He knew that it would be just more of the same. He did it anyway and hoped that she wouldn’t pick up.

“Hey, Peter.” She greeted with a sigh and exhausted look.

“What’s wrong?”

She sighed again, “Work’s been so chaotic and Neal’s been a handful.”

Peter didn’t know what to say, until without thinking he blurted, “I’m sorry.”

Elizabeth huffed and rolled her eyes, “Yeah.”

There was silence for a while and Peter could tell she was angry. Although neither of them brought up why. They had never actually brought up the elephant in the room before. Because neither wanted to get into the big fight that would inevitably follow.

“Have you gotten any leads lately?”

“No, it’s still slow.”

She raised her eyebrows for a moment and muttered, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

It had been months since Victor “mysteriously” disappeared and they hadn’t had a single lead since.

“Been looking at preschools for Neal. Went on a few tours.”

“Wow, already.”

She glared at him, “You have to start early, especially for three year old programs.”

“Send me the information, I’ll look at them.”

She sighed, “Fine.”

He offered, “I’m going to come home soon. We can visit them then.”

“For how long?” She knew for _damn sure_ it wasn’t for good.

“Two weeks.”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows, “ _Oh wow.”_ He could hear the passive aggressive sarcasm in her voice, “It _must_ be slow.” Peter sighed and slumped. “I need to go.”

“Already? We just got on. We’ve barely spoken lately.”

She shrugged, “Not my fault.” Before Peter could respond she said, “Goodbye, Peter.”

Just like that she logged off. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths.

 

Mozzie ducked into Peter’s room, “Hey, Suit. Jérémy wants us down at the precinct _right now_. He says he has a big lead.” After he noticed Peter’s distress, “What’s wrong?”

Peter shook his head, “It’s just that long distance sucks...now what did he say about a lead?”

* * *

Earlier that Saturday Jérémy was running some errands. He was in the kids department of a clothing store looking for new pajamas for this three year old son when he noticed a woman a few displays away looking at toddler girl clothes. He discreetly looked up at her in shock.

‘ _No, It can’t be. Can it?’_ He was in disbelief. He pulled out his phone to verify. He compared the woman’s image to the one he had on his phone.

‘ _Holy shit.’_ They had been looking for months and there she was in a French clothing store. He put down the few clothing items he was carrying and calmly walked over to her.

“Bonjour, Mademoiselle. Je suis Lieutenant Jérémy Lourex, avec la Police Nationale, vous êtes Christina Mendoza?” _Are you Christina Mendoza?_

She barely looked at him, “Non, désolé.” _No, sorry._ She calmly started to walk away.

Jérémy knew it was her. As she started to walk away Jérémy called out in English, something he only did around Peter and Mozzie, “Your French accent is terrible by the way.”

She turned around in shock.

“Can we talk?” He spun the reasoning to something less threatening, “I believe you may have been a witness to a crime.” He shrugged, “I just have a few questions.”

Christina kept her cool, although she did think about running. The shop was on the third floor of the older building, not the best for running. She also had to know how much they knew and about which case. She hoped Gabriel’s murder wasn’t going to come back to bite her on the ass because the police knew about it.

“Alright.”

 

Jérémy texted Mozzie on the way to the precinct. He knew that was safer than calling him. Once they got to there he directed her to his office. “Right over here, Mademoiselle.” They walked into Jérémy’s office. It was small but efficient. He motioned to the plastic chairs on the other side of his desk, “Please, have a seat. Do you want something to drink?” Since Victor disappeared after Jérémy interrogated him, he thought that if he treated Christina like a witness then she would be less likely to run. Pretend you have another suspect and do a good cop, seemingly innocent witness routine.

She sat, clearly not wanting to be there, “How long will this take? I need to make dinner for my family.”

He smiled as he sat, “It won’t take long. Do you have kids?”

She went along with his small talk, “A daughter.”

“Aww, how old?”

“About one and a half.”

“Aww. I remember those days. My youngest is three.” He was trying to build a non threatening rapport with her. His smile faded, “By your accent you’re obviously American, what made you leave the US?”

She responded matter-of-factly, “Trump’s an ass.”

He nodded and let out a slight chuckle, “Can’t argue with that.” He noticed her looking at some metals from the military that were mounted in a dark wooden case on his wall, “From Iraq some years ago. I was a part of the Special Operations Command. What about you?”

She shook her head, “No never thought about it,  but admirable work, Lieutenant.” Jérémy knew this was a big fucking lie. Although her body language did not show it which worried him.

He continued with the small talk, “You a big sports fan?”

“Not particularly.”

“I’m a fan of Savate. It’s like kickboxing. I’m going to a match tonight with some copains. Friends.”

She leaned in and added in a little condescending manner, “My accent apparently needs work, but I do speak fluent French.”

He leaned back and nodded with a slight chuckle, “Yes, of course.” He continued with his point, “I’ve been wanting to see this fighter, umm...Victor Dubos, but they keep cancelling his fights and replacing him. Such a shame really.”

She got back to business, “What did you want to ask me?” Her reaction to his ever so slight pressure really interested Jérémy.

“Right.” He grabbed some files, “Do you know this man?” He opened the file to show Neal’s photo. She hid the intense shock, ‘ _Son of a bitch’_. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I know him.”

“Perhaps you don’t remember. His name is Neal Caffrey. He’s a con man turned FBI informant. You left Charles De Gaulle with him around 2 years ago.” He showed her the surveillance photos. “He disappeared after that.” He let that simmer for just a second before he continued, “He had an enemy list three kilometers long. It’s a lot for us to sort through. It appears that you two left together. I was wondering if he said anything, maybe talked on the phone, where you dropped him off, anything like that.” He smiled.

She knew how to play this, “I’m sorry Lieutenant, but I don’t remember where I went with a man I met once over two years ago.” If it were actually true, it would be a reasonable response.

“We think he could have met up with someone. It would be a real help if you could remember.”

She “thought” for a few seconds. “Do you remember if he asked to go to a certain hotel, bar, or apartment?” He chose those words carefully. One was not like the others. Someone did not land in Paris and go straight to a bar. They normally went to their lodging first. “What arrondissement did he want to go to?”

She finally spoke up, “I think he asked to go to the 10th arrondissement. Some hangout spot, maybe.”

He noted that her body language was calm, open, relaxed. He wondered if she knew he was on to her and she was playing cool, or if she was genuinely calm. When she spoke she made direct eye contact or her eyes went up to the right (a sign of recall not lying), very difficult when you’re lying through your teeth. It would take real practice to get that good.  Jérémy was less focused on the questions and more focused on her body language throughout the meeting (especially while answering), any reaction to his questions (no matter how micro), and how she responded to him.

Her body language and responses proved to him that they were going to have a tough time proving what she did. He knew she wasn’t going to give him _anything_ and try to misdirect them as much as possible.

A real cat and mouse game.

She slightly tilted her head and slightly leaned in, “What do you think happened to him?”

Jérémy was very careful about his response, “Neal had a lot enemies. People who like revenge. People who don’t mind killing.”

After a short pause Christina convincingly faked a coughing fit. “Do you want some water?” She nodded. He got up and left. As soon as he did Christina stealthy hurried over to his computer on the other side of the desk to check some records. She typed in Neal’s name first. She slightly tilted her head and tightened her brows in interest, “Hmmm. Interesting. There’s no record.” Since it wasn’t an official case there weren’t as many resources available. She still had a lot of questions. She searched for Gabriel Dubos next. “Fuck.” She skimmed the file, she was listed as a person of interest with Victor as a main suspect. She searched his name next to find that she was a person of interest in his disappearance as well. “Fuck.” It was a little calming to know that in the file, they heavily theorized that he ran due to his part in his husband’s murder. So they were probably working that angle the most.

She looked up and saw that Jérémy had gotten sidetracked in the bullpen talking to others. She knew _exactly_ who they were. “Son of a bitch.” She muttered when she saw Peter and Mozzie talking to Jérémy. “How the fuck did they found out?” She thought, ‘ _Th_ _ey probably fucking brought it to Jérémy.’_  So many questions and strategies ran through her head. She exited out of the tabs and sat back down on the other side of the desk. Jérémy came back in with a cup of water.

Jérémy noticed that when she took the clear plastic cup her oversized black sweater sleeve covered her hand, preventing her DNA or fingerprints from getting on the cup. She put it on the desk. He fucking knew that was a deliberate move. _‘You smart bitch.’_ He thought.

“Who reported him missing?” There was an innocent curious tone to her voice.

Jérémy sat back down while quickly and carefully crafting his answer, “It came to our attention a while ago.” He changed the subject, “Since you’ve had some time to think, do you remember anything else about the ride from De Gaulle? That ride is anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour. Was there _anything_ you remember?” He wondered how much she would try to mislead him. He never trusted a word out of her mouth.

She “thought” again for a few moments. He noticed her body language still matched, relaxed, open, and calm. On the rare occasion she broke eye contact she looked up to the right instead of the left, a sign of recalling facts not fiction. She finally shrugged, “I mean it was pretty ordinary. We listened to some music, talked about it probably. You know, small talk. Nothing eventful.” Jérémy found it interesting that memory loss was her excuse, an oldy but a goody. In an odd way, due to everything he knew about her, he weirdly expected more from her. That also worried him. That perhaps she was saving the worst for later.

“Are we done? I have to get going.”

He ever so slightly sighed, he knew he wasn’t going to get anything else from this. He got up, “Yes. I’ll contact you if I have any additional questions. Thank you for coming in.”

She got up and offered a handshake, “It was good talking to you, Lieutenant Lourex. Good day.”

As she left she saw Peter and Mozzie standing outside in the bullpen chatting, they saw her and she smiled at them as she passed by. Taking in the satisfaction that they had no idea what she was truly doing to Neal.

* * *

As soon as she left Peter and Mozzie stormed into Jérémy’s office.

“So?”

“Why didn’t you arrest her!?” Peter was fuming

“Because we don’t have any proof! Peter, I know you don’t work homicides but you _know_ how hard it is to prove multiple murders without multiple bodies! Especially since she’s a professional killer!”

“We know she did it!”

“If I went in there with my blazing guns then she would have shut down and we would lose her!”

Mozzie piped back up with a calm, “You mean ‘guns blazing’?”

Jérémy gave bitchface, “Yeah! Whatever your stupid phrase is!” He tried to calm down but kept his stern demeanor, “If I took her to interrogation and started throwing unsubstantiated allegations at her she would get a lawyer then go underground and we would lose her for good!” He reminded, “Peter, you _know_ how to act around dangerous or powerful suspects when you don’t have proof. If you make them think they are just a witness they will be more forthcoming and be less likely to run or get a lawyer.”

Peter did know this. Jérémy continued, “I do not think you are thinking rationally about this case.”

Peter raised his eyebrows and walked closer to Jérémy, so that he was almost in his face, “ _Excuse me?”_

Jérémy stood his ground, “You heard me. I think you’re too close to this. You too, Mozzie.” He gestured over to him before turning his attention back to Peter, “Because you two knew Neal, you cannot be completely rational about this case. I’m the only one who can take a step back and think through this logically. Which is how we are going to catch her. Facts, evidence, logic, and reason. Not feelings or rampant speculation. Those do not work in a French court nor do they make for a solid arrest. I want to get her, trust me I do...but when I am finally able to arrest her...I want the case to be airtight and by the book. So she does not go free on some technicality or lack of evidence.”

Everyone was silent for a while. “From what I saw in there. She’s a master lier and a master manipulator. She lies and manipulates as easily as she breathes. We won’t be getting _anything_ from. She will try, and has already tried, to derail us. We need to be careful about this.”

“Well isn’t that enough for an arrest?” Mozzie asked

“Not if I want it to stay!” Jérémy simply replied, “We get _one shot_ at arresting her. Because if we do and there’s not enough evidence to keep her arrested, causing her to go free...we’ll _never_ find her again. _That_ is a _certainty_.”

Peter and Mozzie knew that Jérémy was right. They would need a bulletproof case before they could arrest her. They needed their smoking gun to take her down.

* * *

Christina left the precinct and needed to strategize. She started walking down the loud streets trying to calm down. ‘ _How in the fuck did they even learn Neal was still alive? He did a real shit job of faking his own death.’_ She continued her fast pace down the small stone Parisian streets. The sun was almost set, casting a calm darkness on to the city streets as street lamps started to turn on. ‘ _Although it seems like they think he’s dead now.’_ She let out a slight chuckle, ‘ _Those idiots have no clue.’_ A small devious smile formed.

‘ _They’ll never find the cabin. It’s so far away. It’s not on any map. It’s a little universe of my own creation. Where I have_ **_total_ ** _control. But my control is being threatened. I need to maintain it. Even though I don’t actually think they’re going to figure it out or connect me to other crimes, I’m a master of not leaving evidence, but I need to take the necessary precautions.’_

She walked until she started crossing stone footbridge on the Seine River. She stopped and leaned on the railing looking forward in thought. The weekend evening crowds were coming in and the city noise was louder than usual. She never liked cities. They were too crowded, too busy, it was hard to focus.  ‘ _I need to be more careful on supply runs like today. Damn, I still didn’t get the supplies I needed. I can’t run into the cops like that again. I need to be more careful, I can’t afford to get sloppy. Would it be possible to move? No, that’s too risky. Someone could see him. Although it’s not an official case, Peter Burke is a fiery one. Determined. A worthy opponent. Much like Neal, he’d challenge me. Maybe that’s why they liked each other so much. Much like Neal, I will crawl into Peter’s mind and make him mine. I know what has to be done...all in due time.’_

She spent a few more hours in the city, to ensure that she wasn’t being followed before doing her normal routine of stealing a car and heading back. She never used the same car for more than one round trip. She would steal one, take it up to the cabin, park it a mile or so from the cabin (hidden of course) then drive it back and drop it somewhere around the city after wiping her prints.  She spent the rest of her time out re-strategizing. She was confident they wouldn’t be able to prove any of her crimes...but holding a guy captive tends to make you paranoid. She started getting in front of them. By the time she was back she was already 10 steps ahead of Peter and the others.

* * *

When she got back to the cabin she heard water splashing. She smiled and walked to the bathroom. She stood and the doorway and watched as Neal gave the little girl a bath. Christina found it interesting how the girl looked exactly like her father. As soon as she came in he turned around instinctively got in front of the child. She noticed the disconnect between his body language and his face. His face trying to show that he wasn’t afraid while his body guarded the child. She inwardly laughed, ‘ _Aww, that’s adorable.’_ Her voice was nonchalant as she gestured, “By all means, continue.” After a few seconds he looked away and turned back to the cheerful toddler.

 _‘It would be possible to just scrub everything. Start over. But why would I? Why do_ **_I_ ** _have to give up everything?  I worked_ **_too hard_ ** _to get this far. I just need to sustain it. I am_ **_not_ ** _going to lose everything now. I’ve worked too hard to mold Neal into the person I want. I forged the man of my dreams. He knows what he has to do to stay on my good side. He knows the role I laid out for him. I have him wrapped around my finger. Between the blackmail and the kid, he knows that he has too much to lose if he misbehaves or tries to do something stupid. It’s Peter and everyone else that I have to worry about, that I have to put into line. He will fall into line. They all will.’_

She leaned against the doorframe studying the two, ‘ _It’s so interesting how much he is capable of loving that thing. How protective he is. How he only puts up a fight when it concerns her. It’s honestly adorable. It was a good idea to get knocked up afterall. I remember when I told him. He tried to hide his fear, his anger, but I can see right through him. I can read him like a book. I quickly learned that this would pay dividends. And as soon as I popped he got tamer. She brought him further into my corner. Gave him something more tangible to lose then Burke and the others who are_ **_supposed_ ** _to be in New York thinking he’s still dead. I just need to control them as well.’_ She smiled, _‘I’ve intertwined with him. Like a climbing, coiling, vine. Ever tightening around him. And I’m sure as hell_ **_never_ ** _going to let him go.’_

* * *

Late that night Peter was sitting on his bed working on his laptop when suddenly his phone rang. He looked and saw it was a blocked number. He was curious so he picked it up, “Hello.”

A deep automated voice, like one altered by a voice changer answered, “You are going to stop looking into Neal Caffrey.”

“Excuse me?” Peter frantically looked for something to record the call and settled for his laptop.

“You heard me. You are going to stop looking into Neal, also Victor and Gabriel Dubos.” Peter had no doubt this was Christina. As with everything else she did, he couldn’t prove it.

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I _will_ know. And people you love and care about are going to die.” A chill went down Peter’s spine. “It would be a real shame if something were to happen to Mozzie or Jérémy because you all wouldn’t back down. Jérémy has three kids. Doesn’t he have another on the way?” She was right, his wife was pregnant again, “Fathers are very important to a child’s life...but you would know that, wouldn’t you, Peter?” He took a few breaths to control himself, “You have a son, don’t you, Peter?”

He tried to stay calm, even though every fiber of his being wanted to start screaming, “He’s what, 2 now? And you named him after Neal Caffrey. That’s honestly adorable and very admirable, Peter. Was that the guilt talking? Because you thought that Neal died on your watch because you couldn’t get to him and save him in time.” She paused to let that sink in, “Your wife, Elizabeth, is taking care of him now, right? A married single mother. Must be hard. Even though that’s exactly what she _didn’t_ want for your child. It would be a real shame if his mother met an untimely fate...or if your son never saw preschool.”

Peter was a deep shade of red, fueled by pure anger, “I **_will_ ** hunt you down. I **_will_ ** find you. You **_will_ ** pay for what you’ve done. You **_will not_ ** get away with this. ”

She chuckled, “If you even so much as tell _anyone_ why you _all_ must lay off this case. I _will_ know, and people _will_ die. It would be very hard to explain to Elizabeth that justice is most important to you, and that’s why you you have to pick out a teeny, tiny, casket.” She paused for a moment, “So Peter, what's more important, your friends and family, or your relentless search for justice? It's your choice. Choose wisely."

As soon as Peter heard the sound of her hanging up he let out a throaty yell that was reminance of a wild animal and hurled his phone across the room, causing it to crash into the wall and the screen to shatter. He ran his hands threw his hair and tried to take deep breaths.

When he finally managed to calm down he walked out of his room and into the hallway. He saw that Mozzie just got back.

“Hey, Suit.”

He took a deep breath, “We need to stop pursuing Christina.”


	11. Playing with Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter tries to restrategize after Christina's threat but also has to deal with problems at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also just posted an update on another fic in this series, Out of the Darkness. It's much cheerier so you should check it out after this.
> 
> Inspired by Running up that Hill; Placebo, Meet Me on the Battlefield; Svrcina, and Chasing Cars; Sleeping at Last.

Peter took a deep breath, “We need to stop pursuing Christina.”

“What?” Mozzie stopped in his tracks and gave him a confused look.

It  _ killed _ Peter so say it, “We have to stop everything.”

Rightly, Mozzie was really confused and pretty suspicious. “Why?”

“She’s an ex-sniper who apparently turned into a gun for hire. She’s a serial killer, Mozzie. We don’t even know how many people she’s killed since she went off the grid. This is  _ far  _ above our pay grade.” 

Peter just needed to get Mozzie and Jérémy off the case long enough for him to re-strategize so they could take her down without anyone getting hurt. He wasn’t going to take any chances by telling Mozzie or Jérémy about the blackmail.

“So what, she just gets away with what she did to Neal?!” Mozzie almost yelled

“No! Of course not! I’ll give it to some of my friends at Interpol and they’ll work the case. They have the resources and the experience to catch her.” 

Mozzie huffed and subtly cross his arms. He wasn’t happy with this arrangement but knew that Peter did have some valid points. Catching a serial killer was above their skill sets.

Peter prayed that his answer would make Mozzie stop. Because Peter did not doubt that Christina would make good on her threat.

He knew that by trying to catch her they were really playing with fire.

He just prayed they wouldn’t get burnt.

* * *

 

The next afternoon Peter came back from lunch where he told Jérémy about the new plan. He wasn’t happy about it but eventually he reluctantly agreed. Mozzie was sitting at the table having just finished lunch. When he saw Peter enter the small kitchen he asked, “What are you still doing here? Don’t you have your flight today?” He was going to see Elizabeth.  

“Yeah, I’m going to get my bag and head out.”

Mozzie placed in plate in the kitchen sink and studied Peter for a few moments. He noticed that Peter didn’t look excited to see his family, whom he hadn’t seen in months. He noticed a kind of apprehension in his voice. “I’m calling bullshit.”

Peter slightly threw his hands up and groaned, “Why? Why do you think that.”

“You don’t look excited. If you were truly excited to go home you wouldn’t be able to shut up about it. Instead you’ve barely said a thing about it. When I’ve brought it up before you’ve quickly dismissed it. Did something happen between you and Elizabeth?”

Peter immediately thought, ‘ _ Yeah, this whole clusterfuck.’  _ He didn’t really want to talk about it with Mozzie, “Long distance is really hard on a marriage.”

Mozzie gently prodded, “Are you and Elizabeth having problems?”

Peter’s eyes looked around, he didn’t really know how to answer that question. He sat down at the table. Mozzie nodded and sat across from him. “How bad is it?”

Peter sighed and rubbed his face with his hands, “When we talk, we fight. About anything, except what’s  _ actually _ wrong. Or worse, we’re just very short with each other and she’s passive aggressive with me.”

“It’s about what’s  _ not _ being said.” Mozzie deduced, “The elephant in the room. You’re absent from their lives.”

Peter nodded, “Yeah...I’m afraid that if we’re together, we’ll fight about what’s actually wrong then we’ll…” His voice drifted off. 

Mozzie could tell that Peter was hurting and tried to console him, “I’d never admit it otherwise...but you’re the happiest and strongest couple I’ve ever known. I know that you can get through this. It’s just a rough patch.” He quoted,  “Every relationship needs an argument every now and then. Just to prove that it is strong enough to survive. Long-term relationships, the ones that matter, are all about weathering the peaks and the valleys. -Melchor Lim” He concluded, “Go home, see your family, fight with Elizabeth. So you two can get everything out in the open and start to deal with it.”

* * *

Peter left Paris in hopes of repairing his marriage. He’d return in about two weeks to check on Mozzie and Jérémy, make sure they listened to his plan. He also hoped to have a new plan to catch Christina by the time he got back, but his marriage came first.

When he got out of the cab in front of his house, he looked up at the house like it was the first time again. It had been quite a while since he’d last seen it. He walked up the steps to the front door. He felt odd just going in, but he did. He opened the door and immediately felt at home again. “Hey, El!” He called out. She came down stairs and even though she knew he was coming that day, she was still shocked to see her husband standing in their entryway. 

“Peter!” She hurried down the stairs and gave him a long relieved kiss. 

When they finally broke she smiled, “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too.” He asked, “Where’s Neal?”

“He’s upstairs. Didn’t want to get him too excited incase there was a hiccup.” What she didn’t say was, ‘ _ In case you decided to cancel on us. I didn’t want to disappoint him.’ _

They walked up the steps and into little Neal’s bedroom. It had light blue walls and tastefully decorated with whimsical animals playing baseball. Neal was sitting on the white carpet playing with some blocks. He looked up with Elizabeth said, “Hey sweetie, look. It’s Daddy!” 

He looked at Peter and smiled, “Daddy!” He got up and run to him. 

Peter picked him up and cliched him to his chest, “I’ve missed you so much!” He immediately remembered the threat and thought, ‘ _ Over my dead body will that bitch ever hurt you.’ _ Something he unknowingly shared with his son’s namesake.

Peter was determined to think of a way to keep his family and friends safe while making sure that she never hurt anyone ever again.

* * *

He went into the office one afternoon to talk to Jones. He needed to confide in someone.

“Hey, Peter! Glad to see you.” He went in for a quick hug. “Did you catch her yet?”

“We need to talk. Follow me.” 

Jones was suspicious and followed Peter up to his office. “What’s wrong?”

Peter instinctively walked behind his desk but didn’t sit down. He paced instead. He updated Jones on Christina. 

“She threatened your wife and son?” Peter nodded, “Jesus Christ, Peter.” He put his hand on his forehead before looking back at Peter, “Do you think she’d actually do it?”

“She’s worse than anyone we’ve ever come across.”

“And you’re not going to tell them about the blackmail.” He clarified

“She said that if I told them why we had to back off, she’d know. You don’t test someone with that sort of skill set. She threatened everyone in my life. I’m not risking their lives.” That was a common tactic with her. How she controlled people.

“Do you think they bought your Interpol story?”

“God I hope so. I just need to distract them long enough to come up with a new plan...I just wish I knew what it was and where to even start.”

“What do you need me to do?” 

Peter took a deep breath, “I need you to protect my family when I go back. Although nothing that Elizabeth would notice, like staking out the house. I don’t want her to worry.”

Jones solemnly nodded, “I’ll protect them like they’re my own.” Peter was glad that somebody had his back. “If she felt the need to threaten you, that means you’re getting close and she’s scared. They mess up when they’re scared.” He assured, “You’ll catch her.”

Peter’s eyebrows pursed, “How are you so certain?”

“Because you always do. Eventually. It’s who you are. You don’t give up.”

Peter raised his eyebrows and commented, “Based on the state of my marriage. Maybe that’s not always a good thing.”

* * *

 

Back in Paris, Mozzie invited  Jérémy over in the evening. When Jérémy walked into the living room he saw the casefile all over the coffee table. 

“I thought Peter was giving the case to his friends at Interpol?”

Mozzie scoffed without looking up from the evidence, “Do you  _ seriously _ trust those European Suits? I sure as hell don’t.”

Jérémy quipped, “Is there anyone you do trust?”

Mozzie simply responded, “It’s a short list.” He looked up from the files, “You going to help or what?”

Jérémy sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, “Fine.” He sat down next to Mozzie on the brown couch. 

Mozzie began to update him on their progress, “So I finally heard back from my contacts and one was  _ finally _ willing to talk.”

“What did they say?”

“That she would not take cash for jobs but instead would ask you for a favor later.”

“Like a barter system.” Jérémy clarified

“Yeah.”

“That’s smart. Much less of a trace. Do they know how to contact her?” Jérémy felt like they were finally getting somewhere.

“From what I’ve heard, she’s in retirement now. Whatever the fuck that means for someone like her.”

Jérémy shook his head, “People like her don’t stop killing and have a nice retirement on the coast. They never stop until they’re caught or killed. Whichever comes first.”

 

They looked through the files for a while, tossing ideas around. Jérémy came across Victor Dubos finances and studied it with intense interest, “You said that she asked for favors as payment.”

“Yeah, why. You got something?”

He kept looking at the records, “Maybe.” He handed the records to Mozzie, “These receipts for building materials. I didn’t understand them at first, but I had a feeling that something was wrong. If Christina was contracted to kill Victor’s husband, what if she had Victor build something for her in return?”

Mozzie studied the records, “Okay, but where would this lead and how would it help us?”

“Have not got a clue. Maybe it’s some sort of base for her. Evidence that we can use against her.”

Yeah, you could say there’s evidence there.

“Now we just have to find out where he built this.” Mozzie didn’t really sound confident. “It could anything anywhere.”

“Based on the amounts of materials, the structure isn’t too big. I have access to property records, since she isn’t stupid enough to use her own name, it will take a while. I’ll keep an eye out for anything suspicious and look into aliases we know of.” Jérémy looked at his phone, “I have to go. I need to find my very pregnant wife ice cream and…” He looked at his phone in confusion, “What are, Poptarts?”

Mozzie chuckled, “You need to find an international grocery store. They’ll be in the American section.”

Jérémy got up and grabbed his coat from the lounge chair on the other side of the room, “Hey, did I tell you, we found out the gender. We’re having a girl!” He was beaming with joy and pride.

Mozzie smiled, “Congratulations!”

“Thanks.” They walked towards the door, “I’ll call this week.”

“Alright."

* * *

Peter was helping Elizabeth clean up from lunch after they put down Neal for a nap. They were chatting, it was their new normal of small talk and not actually addressing their issues. Until Elizabeth made a passing comment, “When I toured Edgewood Preschool a while back I was mistaken for a single mother.” She continued to put dishes away in the cabinets.

Peter slightly tilted his head and sighed. He stopped washing the dish and dried his hands on the hand towel next to him. It was the last straw. They needed to talk. Which he knew would quickly lead to a fight. “And you bring that up because…”

She shrugged, still not looking at him, “Just thought that you should know.”

No,  _ that _ was the last straw for Peter. Her comments and passive aggressive demeanor finally got to him. “Do you want to fight?!”

She stopped and turned towards him, “Excuse me?”

He was intensely staring at her, all business, “There is a lot of stuff that we’re not talking about. I think we need to talk about it.”

She took a deep breath and readied herself, “Alright. I’ll start. When I got pregnant I  _ explicitly  _ told you that I  _ was not _ going to be a married single mother, but that’s  _ exactly _ what happened! Actually, it’s worse, because you’re not even on same the damn continent!”

He didn’t know how to respond exactly. He let her continue. She calmed down a little, but was still clearly upset, “You left us, Peter. So you could follow a damn case! Because as much as you love us, you  _ cannot  _ resist a good case.  _ Especially _ if it concerns Neal.” She took a few breaths, “I accepted long ago that you are almost overly attached to your work and that it is very important to you...but I have my limits, Peter.” Elizabeth was a very patient and supportive woman, but like everyone, she had her limits. She was not the type of woman who just tolerated everything and would let someone walk all over her.

All he could manage was an, “I’m sorry.” There was silence between them, “You know that I can’t just let her get away with what she did. She hurt so many people, including Neal. She needs to be stopped.”

She huffed, “You see, that’s your problem. You think that you’re the only one who can solve cases. You have this relentless search for justice. It can be  _ so damn frustrating! _ You get this tunnel vision and you become obsessed. You chased Neal around the world  _ for years _ ! Who does that!?”

Peter didn’t respond, “Yet I still supported you...but things are different now. You have a son and you’re not trying to catch someone like Neal who’s pretty harmless. You’re trying to catch a soulless killer.”

Peter just uselessly repeated, “She needs to pay for what’s she’s done.”

Elizabeth quickly yelled, “But why are you the one that needs to catch her?!”

There was a long silence, Elizabeth continued eye contact as Peter looked down. 

“How much of your life are you going spend chasing this garbage excuse for a human?” When he didn’t say anything she asked, “Why is this so important to you? Really?”

“Neal’s family, El!”

“I’m not arguing that!”

“He died, El! And it’s all my fucking fault!” He yelled as he threw a dish on the counter to the ground, “If I did my damn job then he wouldn’t have gotten to Paris and gotten killed! The  _ least _ I can do is find the piece of shit who did this and nail her to the wall! Find out  _ why _ she did this!”

There was another long silence. Peter looked down and tried to take some deep breaths to calm down, bracing himself on the counter with one hand.

Elizabeth was calmer now, “I know that you won’t give up. Because that’s just not you. She as bad as I think she is?”

Peter nodded, “Yes.”

She got stern, “Then I want you to remember what happened to David Siegel, what happened with Pratt, and with the Panthers. How taking down those big fish can cause so much chaos and heartbreak. You’re  _ not _ allowed to get hurt. You’re  _ not _ allowed to die. You cannot do that to your son...or to me.” He looked up at her remembering the past chaos those cases caused. 

“I love you, Peter. You know that. I will always love you...but I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

Peter’s heart shattered into a million pieces. Terrified of what she was going to say next. “What...what are you saying?”

“I...I just need some time.” 

“If I go and give you some time, will I still be welcome here?”

“Yes. Always.”

* * *

 

Peter drove into the almost deserted parking lot and put the car in park. The day that started out warm and sunny had turned overcast and cold. With a deep breath he took the keys and walked out of the car. He walked through the entry arch to Greenwood Cemetery. He walked through the neat rows of headstones. He took a right and continued walking down a row. There weren’t many people there. He did notice a family a few rows over who were sitting in beach chairs eating pizza around a grave. It mildly confused him, yet he found it kind of amusing and he smiled. 

He finally reached his destination.

His heart still stopped when he saw the simple headstone with the name, Neal Caffrey.

He rubbed his forehead, not knowing exactly where to start, what to say. “I know that you’re not actually here, but I heard that doing something like this can make you feel better.” He commented, “I don’t know what we buried, but it wasn’t you. There was something in the casket, because it was heavy. Probably sandbags. Umm..anyway…” Getting back to what he came to say, “You were such a pain in my ass. I worried so damn much about you. Every damn day. I was terrified that you were going to get yourself killed. Especially with the Panthers. We were really playing with fire there. Well, it didn’t talk long for me to play with fire again, but I’ll get there. Even though you were such a giant pain in the ass...I wouldn’t have had it any other way.” He smiled and wiped the a budding tear from his eye.

“I can’t help but think that this is all my fault. At first I thought that your death that day was my fault. No matter what I did I could not get over this  _ intense _ guilt. Then I found out that you didn’t die that day. That it was all a con...a con to save us all. I understand why you did it. Doesn’t make it any less painful though. You know, I didn’t want to hope...but there was a part of me that really hoped you were out there alive and okay. I couldn’t help it..I hoped.” He wiped the tears from his eyes, “Then I found out the truth about her. Who she is. What she does. And that hope was crushed into a million tiny pieces. Because I knew. Your meeting wasn’t an accident. She never intended for you to make it out of the airport.” He closed his eyes and took a shaky deep breath, “I  _ will _ find out what happened that night in Paris. Because that is the  _ least  _ you deserve.” His shifted his weight, “I just...ran into a roadblock. She’s threatening everyone that I love. I have no doubt that she would do it.” 

“I just...I just need to find another way. Because she  _ can’t _ get away with what she did to you. To everyone else she’s hurt.” 

He stood there, still staring at the headstone, “I’ll figure it out. I’ll find a new way. And I swear to you, she  _ will _ pay for what she did. You  _ will _ get justice.” More tears formed in his eyes, “It’s the only thing I can give you now.”

He wipes his eyes again, took another deep breath, and turned to walk away. He was only a few steps from the headstone when he turned around “You know what.” He walked back, his voice cracking, “One more thing. Just one more thing, Neal. For me. Don’t...be...dead.”

“Just stop this. All of this.” He gestured over the grave, “Just give me a sign. Some sort of sign that you  _ somehow _ managed to survive. That you’re okay. If there was someone who could get out of a situation like this...it’s you. You could always find your way out...There’s a part of me that just keep wishing, hoping, that your luck hasn’t run out. Not just yet. If there could just be one more miracle.” The tears were flowing freely down his face, “Just one more miracle.”

* * *

 

He came home later and saw Elizabeth sitting alone on the couch. 

“Hey, El.” He cautiously greeted as he shook off his jacket and sat down across from her.

“Hey.” She gave him a small smile. 

“What have you been thinking?” He didn’t want to ask, but he knew that he had to.

She was silent for a while, which really worried Peter. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this…” His heart stopped, “But I don’t want to call it just yet. We’ve been through so much. I don’t want to call it quits yet. I feel that their is still something here to save. I want to keep going as long as we possibly can.”

This wave of relief swallowed Peter whole. “Thank you. We’ll get through this. I promise.”

She reminded him, “You’re not allowed to get hurt or die, remember.” He nodded, “ I’m glad that you have people that have your back as much as you have theirs. I know you'll take care of them. Take care of yourself. Don’t die.”

“I promise.”

* * *

 

Peter regretfully returned to Paris. His goal was to have a new plan to catch Christina by now...he still had nothing. Between saving his marriage that was on life support and catching Christina, he had his work cut out for him. He didn’t need anything else on his plate.

He walked into the apartment and noticed that even though it was mid-morning you couldn’t tell because all the windows were covered with stuff from around the apartment; curtains, clothes, flattened boxes, anything. Peter curiously and cautiously walked through the apartment. He walked into the living room, put his duffle down, and went to inspect one of the windows. 

“S-STOP! DON’T TOUCH THAT!” Peter swung around at Mozzie’s yell. He saw Mozzie was shaking and holding a kitchen knife at the archway. His heart stopped when he saw the left side of Mozzie’s beige button down shirt was covered in blood.

Peter ran over to him, “What the hell happened?!”

“She-she-she did it!” Mozzie was shaking like a leaf and dropped the knife. His eyes were huge, his heart was racing, and even though he was cold he was still soaked in sweat. Peter was looking for a wound. He found a bullet wound below his clavicle. It was still pretty fresh. He applied pressure as he demanded, “Did what?!”

“I-I had ti-time. He di-didn’t.  I-I c-covered my head and heart a-and cr-crouched. Then ra-ran.”

“What happened?!”

“Sh-She was going to get me too, b-but s-sh-she m-missed.” 

He wasn’t making much sense to Peter, but he knew it wasn’t good. Mozzie looked Peter in the eyes, “I-I saw it, Peter. I saw it.”

“Saw what?”

“She murdered Jérémy.”


	12. Echoes of the Shots Ring Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Mozzie begin to deal with the aftermath of Jérémy's murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all are enjoying this fic because I'm having a lot of fun writing it. It's different than what I've written before and I'm always wanting to try new things in writing. I'm used to writing intense and tragic fics but this is intense and tragic in a different way. It's exciting to write!  
> Thank you to all who have commented and left kudos! You mean the world to me!! *offers hugs*
> 
> Title from, Meet Me on the Battlefield; Svrcina (such an emotional song, omfg) and inspired by Sacrifice; Zella Day, I'll Take Everything; James Blunt, Tomorrow We Fight; Svrcina, Will I Make It Out Alive; Jessie Early.

The Night of the Murder

For about the past two weeks Jérémy had been searching through property records. It was harder since he didn’t exactly know what he was looking for. It was like a needle in a haystack except you don’t know that you’re looking for a needle. He eventually found a small plot of land up about an hour or two northwest of Paris. He found it suspicious that under the land details all it had were coordinates and the size. He typed them into the police database and saw that this small plot was located in a forest in the middle of nowhere. 

“A plot of land in the middle of nowhere. That’s not suspicious at all.” He sarcastically muttered.

He saw that the owner of the land was recently changed to a Mathis Gaumont after being held by Leurmort Industries.

After a few days of digging he found out that Mathis Gaumont was an alias. He didn’t exist and neither did Leurmort Industries. He tried to get to the bottom of Leurmont but it was a seemingly never ending pit of LLCs inside of LLCs and holding companies. He found that interesting because LLC were an American corporate structure. Not French. All these were incorporated in the US.

He had a strong feeling that Christina was behind this and whatever structure she had Victor build, was on this forest property.

“I have to call Mozzie. We have to check this place out right now.” He pulled out his phone and found Mozzie’s number. “Hi Mozzie. I definitely found something.  I’m on my way over now. I’ll update you once I pick you up.” After he hung up he went to tell his very patient wife that he had to go and he didn’t know when he was going to be back. He kissed her goodbye.  He left after he tucked his kids into bed for the last time.

* * *

 

Present

“What?” Peter stopped applying pressure to Mozzie’s bullet wound just below his collarbone. His face dropped in vacant shock. Mozzie leaned on the white hallway wall and slid down into a sort of sitting position leaving a small trail of blood on the wall. He was still violently shaking which made him stutter heavily. His face was beat red and as he hyperventilated.

“What happened?”

“S-she killed him, Peter. I saw it. It-i-it came from no-nowhere. I don’t-I don’t-I don’t know where-where it-it came from. Where she was. I saw him. I saw...him...bleed out. I knew...I knew I...was next. You know, I-I saw a lot growing up on...on the..streets. And thr-throughout…my life. But...but I...I never...saw someone...di-die before. I couldn’t...I couldn’t...do any-anything.”

Peter bent down and shook him, “Mozzie! Mozzie! Stay with me! Was this last night?” 

“What-what time is it?”

Peter wrested his phone from his pocket, “11:34 AM.”

“What da-day is it?”

That worried Peter, even though it wasn’t exactly surprising that Mozzie was in physical and mental shock. “Thursday.”

“Tues-tuesday night. Late. Real late.”

Peter’s jaw dropped, “How...how are you still alive?” He wondered how Mozzie was able to treat his wound over the past day and a half.

“I-I’ve been on my own...a very...long time. I’ve-I’ve seen my...fair share of wo-wounds. No-no hospitals. I ba-bandaged up Neal before, you-you know. We were mak-making the split in Bue-Buenos Air-es but this guy-this guy-Garrett?? I think. Wa-wanted more. He sho-shot Neal. We-we-we didn’t know he had a gu-gun. Or else or else we wouldn’t-wouldn’t’ve wor-worked with him. And we-we-we couldn’t go to a ho-hospital cause-cause you-you-you were looking for ‘im. So I-I-I bandged ‘im u-up-up. He-he-he survived that gu-gunshot.”

“We need to get to a hospital _now_. You’re in shock.” Peter tried help Mozzie get up.

“NO!” Mozzie shouted and batted away Peter’s hands. “They h-have the best pa-pa-patience. She’s outside! She’ll g-get us! Fin-finish the job!”

Peter still had no idea what the fuck was going on and what the fuck happened. He tried to calm down Mozzie, “If she was out there, then I would not have made it in the building. So come on. Let’s go to the hospital.”

He tried to help Mozzie up again but Mozzie shook his head and muttered a comment that shattered Peter’s heart. “No. I ca-can’t see you di-die too!”

Peter stopped. His face fell in vacant shock and he was speechless. There was silence for a while until Peter coaxed him some more and he eventually agreed to go to a hospital.

* * *

 

Once he got Mozzie to the hospital the doctors started to work on him. Peter stepped back and waited in the waiting area of the hospital. Even though it was afternoon now, he was all alone. He sat down, put his head in his hands, and started to cry.

He ran his hands through his hair and took deep breaths. ‘ _This is all your fault. This is all your fault. This is all your fault. You got_ _Jérémy killed. She somehow found out. This is no coincidence. You couldn’t get them to stop. You failed. And you got a good man killed because of it. You shouldn't have left. Why did you leave them? You should have been there to ensure that they believed your story and didn’t continue until you had a plan. This is all your fault. This is all your fault.’_

His phone started ringing. He stopped pacing and wiped the tears from his face that he just realized were there. He pulled his phone from his pant pocket and saw that it was a blocked number.

“Hello.”

“You don’t listen well, do you Peter?”

He knew instantly who it was.

He said through gritted teeth, “You’re not going to get away with this.”

Her voice had this intense patronizing tone, “ _You_ _made_ me do this, Peter. If you and the others would have just _listened_ to me then nothing would have happened. I clearly laid out the rules and what would happen if you broke them. Well...you broke them. _You_ got Jérémy killed.”

Peter’s anger was consuming him whole. He tried to calm himself down, but failed.

She continued with her maddeningly condescending tone, “I mean what I say, Peter. You have to learn that there are consequences to your actions. When you and the others wouldn’t listen to me, I _had_ to act. I didn’t _want_ to do it but Peter, _you forced_ me. Why did you make me kill him, Peter?”

Peter genuinely didn’t know what to say to Christina for turning this around and blaming _him_ for Jérémy’s death. Her manipulation skills were almost unmatched.

It took everything Peter had not to start angrily screaming.

Her condescending tone turned to caution, “I would suggest you stop now...before I finish off Mozzie and others that you care about. Like your wife and son.”

He heard her hang up then let out a piercing angry scream and punched a hole in the nearby wall.

He stormed out of the bland waiting room where he saw an older Frenchmen in a well tailored suit whom he recognized. It was Capitaine Badeaux, Jérémy’s boss. Badeaux saw Peter and looked like he wanted to kill him. Badeaux stopped talking to other middle aged Frenchmen and walked up to him, “I heard about Jérémy’s involvement in that off hours case. As soon as I take Mozzie’s statement about the murder. We need to talk.”

* * *

 

They walked into Mozzie’s hospital room where some more of Badeaux’s detectives were already talking to him. “You need to tell us what you saw and heard so we can catch who did this.”

Mozzie was bandaged up and much calmer now thanks to some meds. Peter stood in the corner of the small hospital room while Capitaine Badeaux stood right in front of the bed to ask questions and take notes.

“It was Christina Mendoza. She killed Jérémy and was going to kill me too.”

“Okay.” Badeaux said, “Tell us what happened.”

 

_Mozzie was standing in the small entry hallway to their building. It was darker than it normally was, even though it was night. The large ceiling lamp a few feet from the door was out so there was just the light from the outside street lamps shining through the clear glass front door with sculpted designs._

_Mozzie leaned against the protruding structure of grey mailboxes and checked his phone again. Jérémy told him that he should be there shortly to update him on a lead. Soon he saw Jérémy walking towards the door._

_When he was only a few feet away Mozzie started walking towards him when he heard a gunshot and saw it hit Jérémy in the chest and he fell to his knees then collapsed to the ground._

_Mozzie jumped as his eyes widened and his jaw dropped. He saw the blood start to pool around Jérémy’s body. He shakily backed away._

_‘MOVE! YOU’RE NEXT!’ His instincts told him and he ducked his head and used his arms to protect himself. Right after he crouched down he heard it. The crash of glass, a bullet whooshing through the air. Then he felt it. A sharp, stabbing, excruciating, pain just below his the left side of his collarbone._

_‘She missed. MOVE! SHE WON’T MISS AGAIN!’_

_While still crouched down Mozzie ran behind the mailboxes. As soon as he got there he heard another shot buzz past him and hit the wooden staircase behind him. Just nearly missing him. He cautiously looked behind the grey mailboxes and saw Jérémy’s body laying on the ground outside._

_Luckily this was an older building, WWII era. It was one of the few buildings that had a secret bomb shelter in the entry. The door was on the ground next to the elevator which was about 20-30 feet to Mozzie’s left. He had no cover between there and the shelter. He was terrified that she was on her way to finish the job in person. He got on his stomach, trying to ignore the blood gushing from his wound, and crawled across the entryway towards the door on the floor. He wrangled it open and climbed down the ladder, making sure he closed the door._

_Once down he didn’t turn on the light. He was too terrified to. The small space was now a storage room for the residents. It was full of boxes and furniture covered with sheets. He ran over towards the corner to sit and brought his knees to his chest. He saw some a box that was labeled, couverture, or blankets. He ripped open the taped box with his right hand and pulled out a dark blanket. He managed to tightly secure the small light blanket around his wound._

_Once he finished he felt himself breathe for the first time since all this happened mere minutes ago. Even though to Mozzie it seemed like a lifetime. He sat in shock, failing to comprehend what he just saw. He started violently shaking and hyperventilating, tears fell down his face. He drew blood from biting his tongue in an effort not to start screaming in terror. He was terrified that would give away his location. Although instinct took over and he opened his mouth to start screaming in pure terror but nothing came out. He covered his face with shaky hands._

_He kept thinking, ‘Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. She killed him. She killed him. She killed him. She was going to kill you. You don’t stand a chance against a trained killer. She’s going to come back for you. You’ll end up just like the rest of them. Dead. Oh god he’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead.’_

_He didn’t know how long he sat there, but it felt like forever. He was too terrified to move. To breathe._

_When he finally surfaced he saw the sunlight shining into the entryway. He noticed that Jérémy’s body was gone and the door was blocked off as a crime scene._

_He didn’t know whether or not it was safe to leave. Whether he should use the stairs or the elevator. He chose the elevator because it didn’t have any windows. So no chance of a clear shot._

_As soon as he got back to the apartment he immediately started covering the windows. Afterwards he scanned for bugs._

_He found four._

_One in the kitchen, one in each bedroom, and one in the living room._

The detectives and their captain knew that corresponded with how they found a bug in Jérémy’s home office and near his desk in the precinct. “Do you know if he had his laptop with him?” Badeaux asked

“No, I don’t. Since we were going somewhere, probably not. Why?”

“It was missing from his home office. We also noticed that his phone was missing from his person and his car.”

Mozzie nodded, “It was her. She did it.”

Badeaux didn’t want to jump to conclusions but he did believe Mozzie. “Thank you for your statement. If we need anything else we’ll let you know. Get some rest.”

Badeaux turned to leave the room but he looked at Peter standing in the corner of the room and demanded, “We need to talk. _Now_.” He motioned for Peter to follow.

* * *

 

‘ _Day 4 and she hasn’t left, not even to get firewood. There’s something wrong.’_ Neal had noticed over the past few weeks she was barely at the cabin then one day she came in with some supplies and stocked them up in the padlocked kitchen pantry. She hadn’t left since. She said there was a blizzard coming, but the last time she came in, through the door Neal saw a slight glimpse of warmer temperatures, growing leaves on trees, and budding flowers. The signs of a budding spring.

Due to odd weather patterns, a blizzard wasn’t completely out of the question, but he never knew what she was truly thinking. If what she was saying was true or just another mind game.

He didn’t know anything about what was going on outside; the investigation, the murders. She did proudly remind him of her skills on a regular basis. Whether it be by her actions or her words.  The ever looming threat of what she was truly capable of. It all most certainly served its purpose.

It scared the absolute shit out of him.

Along with everything else he had no idea about. He didn’t know the true reason why she wasn’t leaving the cabin. She was using it to go underground after killing a cop and nearly killing a civilian.

He was concerned about what prompted her recent behavior and what it could mean for his and his child’s overall survival. He wanted to ask, but he knew that was playing with fire. He could very well end up getting his ass kicked. It didn’t take him long to figure out how to word it but it took a couple days for him to work up the courage to ask.

He was sitting in one of the chairs next to the dark wooden book cabinet. Christina was sitting on the floor playing with the child. It every fiber of Neal’s being not to push Christina away from her. He learned that keeping her away from the child just ended up with more breaks and bruises and she still did whatever she wanted.

He took a silent deep breath, “So that storm’s pretty bad, huh?” She looked up at him, wondering why he was asking and where he was going with this, “The blizzard.” He clarified.

“Yeah.”

“There enough supplies? I know you were out a lot before that, so, I was just wondering…”

She immediately responded while intensely staring him down, “That’s not your concern.” She got up and stood directly in front of him, still maintaining intense eye contact.

He looked up at her, fear bubbling in his chest, “I..I just wondered if there was enough supplies to last. If you picked up enough while you were out before.”

She didn't like that he was asking questions like that about her behavior. Something else Neal didn’t know was that Christina was already on edge about killing Jérémy. She knew that was a risky move and the cops would be out in full force, but she felt it necessary. She was just praying that she covered up her tracks well enough to not get caught or found.

She felt it needed to happen because Jérémy knew too much. He basically figured it out and was going to tell Mozzie. They were closing in on her and she was starting to feel trapped. She didn’t think she had a choice.

She heard their progress through the bugs she had planted in various locations. She had been intensely following the bugs since she put them in around when she was officially questioned by Jérémy. To cover her tracks and keep Neal from getting suspicious and asking questions she said she was doing supply runs for the blizzard and doing outside repairs. It apparently didn't work.

She clenched and unclenched her jaw and fists. She looked upwards then back at him with a sigh, “I thought you had learned. I really did. You shouldn’t ask questions.”

She punched him in the face but as he tried to recover from the blow she pulled him from the chair and threw him to the ground. He fell on his hands and knees which took the brunt of the fall. He managed to get a few painful breaths in.

“I thought you knew better than to ask questions. Apparently you need another lesson.” She started to repeatedly kick him in the stomach then moved to the rest of his body. She stopped and barked, “Get up!” He listened and with some deep breathes he shakily managed to get to his feet. He instinctively put his arms up in defense. She grabbed his wrist that she had broken months earlier that never quite healed causing him to cry out in pain. She took a step forward, placing her leg outside his and hooked her arm under his smaller bicep. She pulled down his wrist and pivoted her outside leg causing Neal to get off center and sending him turning and crashing to the ground, landing on his back with a loud thud. She perfectly executed the maneuver in a manner of seconds.  

She got in a few more kicks and some stomps before she pulled him up by the collar of his t-shirt and wrapped her muscular arm around his neck, trapping Neal in a chokehold. He uselessly thrashed his arms at the hold. She tightened her grip just enough that Neal almost passed out but didn’t. She started to thoughtlessly vent her anger with her words instead of her fists, “I do so damn much to keep us alive! To keep this going! You have _no idea_ what I’ve had to do to keep this going!” She impulsively spat, “I had to kill a cop for you!”

Neal’s eyes widened at that and looked up. Christina’s face fell in shock when she realized that she said all that out loud and Neal most definitely heard her. She released the hold on Neal’s neck sending his bruised and bloody body to collapse on the floor.

Neal looked up at her in a silent shock with his one eye that wasn’t swollen shut, ‘ _What the fuck are you talking about? What the fuck did you do you crazy bitch?’_

Her eyes scattered around the room and her breathing increased. She wiped the sweat from her forehead. ‘ _Fuck fuck fuck shit shit fuck fuck shit!’_ She scrambled for a way to cover up what she just accidentally said.

Neal looked at her with pursed eyebrows in thought, ‘ _Are you seriously going to try to unring that bell?’_

When Christina couldn’t find an immediate way to cover it up she couldn’t get out the cabin fast enough.

Neal wiped the blood and sweat from his face with his t-shirt which didn’t really help because it was covered in sweat and blood as well. He could already feel at least a few cracked ribs and a broken nose. It was hard to discern what else because every damn cell in his body was throbbing and swollen. The pain was so excruciating, he felt like he was run over by a bus.

He laid there feeling nothing but pain, all his limbs felt too weak to move. He looked turned his head from where he was lying on the floor when he realized the scream crying he was hearing wasn’t from him. It was his little girl only a few feet away. He couldn’t really walk so he painfully pulled himself across the floor and tightly encased the little girl in his arms. Wondering what the fuck was going on outside when Christina was out. Wondering, ‘ _could it be?’_

But he didn’t dare get his hopes up.

It was too dangerous.


	13. Next Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neal thinks about his next move. Captain Badeaux has some serious words for Peter. Mozzie comes to a conclusion about what to do next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This series turns 2 years old today! So I'm updating all fics in this series! Thanks to everyone who's read, commented, bookmarked, and left kudos over the last two years!  
> Be sure to check out my [fanfic tumblr tag](https://onequartercanadian.tumblr.com/tagged/fanfic) for some fic playlists and moodboards that will be posted today!!

After a while Neal pushed himself against a wall. The logs pressed into his back and into his fresh bruises which caused him to hiss in pain. He tried to get his breathing under control as he wiped the sweat and blood from his face and cradled the small child in his arms, getting sweat on her white t-shirt. 

A million things ran through his mind at lightning speed. ‘ _ If she wouldn’t have blurted that out, would she have killed me?’ _

‘ _ The fuck is up with killing a cop? Who has she pissed off on the outside that she had to kill?’  _

The million dollar question kept running through his head,

_ ‘Did someone figure it out? Is someone looking for me? She constantly says that she’d kill my family if I ever tried anything. Has she had a reason to act on that threat and she’s just not telling me?’ _

He tried to figure this out.‘ _ Obviously someone is after her for  _ **_something_ ** _. God knows she’s done enough shit for  _ **_someone_ ** _ to be looking for her.’  _ She routinely talked about her skillset to remind him what she was capable of. She routinely told him about her previous kills and jobs as a sniper and gun for hire as if she was telling a fable. Each one ended with the same takeaway, don’t fucking cross me or you and everyone you care about will experience my lethal wrath. 

A lot of time she recounted the stories as if she was remembering a fond childhood memory. It never failed to send chills down his spine.

He remembered a harrowing reality,  _ ‘If they arrest her, they’d have no clue this place exists. That we’re here. She’d sure as hell never tell them. We’d die here.’ _

Since Neal didn’t have access to any supplies or food, without Christina they’d die.

Neal was right with his theory. Jérémy was the only one who somehow managed to figure out about the cabin, and it was more the land that he figured out. He was on his way to investigate when Christina found out and murdered him.

If Neal knew about her recent actions, he would not be surprised exactly. He never underestimated her or her abilities. 

He desperately needed answers, but he had no way to get them. No matter how gently he prodded, asking any questions had a real chance of being lethal...not just to him, but anyone he cared about.

He let out a deep breath. He had no idea what to do. 

He sat for what seemed like an eternity. She still hadn’t come back. There was a part of him that wondered if she would. 

A few hours later Christina came back into the cabin. Neal bit his tongue to refrain from asking any questions. She had this carefree body language that he had no idea how she was able to pull off so effortlessly. 

She looked down at him still sitting on the floor and raised her eyebrows, “You know, there are chairs here. Maybe you should give those a shot.” She shrugged, “Just a suggestion.” She leisurely continued to the kitchen and unlocked the fridge to take some meat out. “Had some deer thawing in here. That should be good for tonight.” 

She acted like nothing happened. If Neal didn’t want to die or have his ass beaten further, that’s how he had to act as well. 

She managed to have complete control of the situation.

* * *

Capitaine Badeaux had Peter follow him to a private room normally used by doctors to talk to families about their loved ones. It was a calming room. There were some pictures on the walls with French motivational sayings and dimly lit, not in a bad way, but a way the gave a comforting and calming effect on the room. There was a brown fabric couch and a couple of matching sitting chairs with some potted plants in the corner.

As Badeaux closed the door Peter spoke first, “What did you want to talk about?”

He turned to Peter, “I told Jérémy to stop looking into this case months ago.”

This took Peter by surprise. He thought that Jérémy had the precinct’s support. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I told him to stop when Victor Dubos disappeared.”

“Why?”

Badeaux took a breath and his tone evened out, “I knew that we were looking at a serial killer. Those do not come around often. Also, this is not the US. It is very hard to bring those high caliber rifles into the country. She’s a sniper so there’s no doubt that she is heavily armed. So where did she get them? What else could she have on her? So I called my friends at Interpol to look into her. I knew that this was too big for one person to handle. It’s, how would you say….” He snapped his fingers trying to think of the English phrase, “Ah. An all hands on deck situation.” He commanded Peter, “I know that you and your friend were working the case with him.” Peter nodded, “You are going to stop.”   
Peter’s eyes widened, “No. She killed my friend! I’m not just going to drop it!”

“She’s dangerous, Peter! She’s killed multiple people!” He took a breath to calm down, “You might have pull in the US as FBI but here you are a civilian and I am ordering you to back off.”

Peter fumed with anger, “No! I won’t! She killed my friends!”

Badeaux angrily spat, “You don’t get it! Do you?” Peter looked at him for clarification, “ _ This is bigger than just her killing your friends! _ Who knows how many people she has been paid to kill! She brought illegal arms and God knows what else into France! I was called by the US military because they have been looking for her for years. They want to court marshall her for crimes she committed in the service!” He repeated his point after he calmed down again, “This case is bigger than just your friends. Let us handle it.”

The men stood in silence, staring each other down. Badeaux got the feeling that Peter was not going to listen to him, “Please let us handle this. I  _ really _ don’t want you or Mozzie to be her next victim.” He added, “I don’t want your wife and son to end up like Jérémy’s. I had to tell his very pregnant wife that her husband had been murdered. I sat there as she uncontrollable sobbed into my shoulder. I helped her tell her young children that their father was never coming home. That their little sister will never know their father. So do your family a favor. As soon as Mozzie is released, go back home to the US. I’ll keep you updated. There you can keep yourself and your family safe.”

Badeaux left Peter with a lot to think about.

* * *

 

Mozzie sat alone in the hospital room. The doctors wanted to keep him till they were sure his wound would heal properly, so probably a few more days. No matter what he did he couldn’t get the visuals of the murder out of his mind. It was one of the times he cursed his ability of total recall. 

He remembered all of it. Every second. From when Jérémy was shot to when Peter showed up at the apartment. He remembered every smell, every sight, every sound. Every second sitting in the underground storage space. The constant, overwhelming, crushing fear that something terrible was about to happen. That he was about to die.

He remembered thinking, ‘ _ I suppose a bullet to the brain is peaceful in its own right. No pain. No nothing. You just...die.’  _ It oddly consoled him. He always knew that he would not die an old man asleep in his bed. Generally, that’s not how conmen die. 

It most definitely crossed his mind to back off. He remembered thinking in the storage space that he would back off if he managed to survive.

As he sat alone in the hospital room, he had a realization in his post-panic time of clarity, ‘ _ Neal was the closest thing you ever had to family. He was your brother. She took that from you. She needs to pay for it. You have nothing left to lose. So why would you back down? If she wants to take you out. Then she can go right a-fucking-head. You’ll go down fighting. You’ve run and hid your entire life. This is important. The most important thing you’ve ever done. If finding her and getting justice for Neal results in your demise, then at least you’ll go out fighting. You’re okay with that. Because this is worth fighting for.’ _


End file.
